


Temporary Distractions

by amycarey



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fake Relationship, Tropes, mentions of outlaw queen and captain swan, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1651100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycarey/pseuds/amycarey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Oh, I don’t know,” Regina says. “It makes a certain amount of sense on paper. Henry’s two mothers, all that fighting, making magic together, tentative trust built. Destroyed of course, but Robin needn’t know that. Plus, I knew it would really irritate him.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Emma wants to ask why but also doesn’t want to push her luck. “And you expect me to go along with this?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“I don’t know how else to put this, Ms Swan,” Regina says, leaning forward. “You owe me and I’m calling to collect.” </i>
</p><p> <br/>It's been a month and Regina won't speak to her, until she does and Emma is left pretending to be in a relationship with her so that Regina can get through a dinner invitation with her pride intact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which an alliance is formed

Emma stares into her cup of coffee. It’s been four weeks since her return to Storybrooke with Hook. Four weeks since she reunited Robin with his formerly dead wife. Four weeks since Regina’s heart broke. She’s apologised, over and over and over again.

 

“I didn’t know,” she’d said, shuffling, fidgeting with the sleeves of her jacket. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Save it, Ms Swan,” Regina had replied, emotional devastation written across her face in the harsh morning light. She’d been blinking in the sunlight and Emma had suspected she’d had more than a few nightcaps to get to sleep. “I need you to just leave me alone.”

 

Emma had agreed reluctantly and now, four weeks on, Regina’s still totally absent from her life. Henry’s seen her. He’s organised his own custody arrangement, spending alternate weeks with each parents. “Just for now,” he’d said. “You two will have to sort out all your shit one day soon.” Emma had contemplated lecturing him about the language but honestly couldn’t be bothered. Perhaps if Henry started swearing like a sailor, Regina might _have_ to talk to her.

 

Snow’s seen her. “She’s unhappy,” she’d said when Emma had pressed her. “And it translates as anger. Give her time.” Even Ruby’s seen her. Apparently, she still comes into the diner for coffee. It appears to just be Emma she’s avoiding.

 

There’s paperwork laid out on her desk but she can’t concentrate. There’s this little voice in the back of her head that keeps telling her that if it gets too much more overdue, Regina will have to come and get it – even if only to yell at her. Emma could handle yelling; she’s used to anger and abuse, relishes it even. It’s the silence she can’t handle.

 

“Take a break,” David says, walking in, and Emma jumps.

 

“I’m fine,” she says, fingers tapping a rhythm against the desk.

 

“You’re not,” David says. “Is this about Hook?”

 

She and Killian lasted a week after their return from the Enchanted Forest. She thought it’d be nice to be with someone who cared more about her than she did for him, but it was exhausting. He wanted too much from her. He wanted to be loved, to be needed, and she just didn’t have it in her. Not for him. “No,” she says. “It’s about Regina. I just…”

 

“Feel guilty?” David asks. He runs a hand through his cropped hair. There are deep circles under his eyes. Probably he’s more exhausted than she is.

 

“Yeah.” She sighs. There’s something else, besides guilt, something she’s finding it hard to quantify, but she thinks it might be loss. She misses Regina.

 

“Go and get a bear claw, kiddo,” he says. “Talk to Ruby. Go for a walk. The paperwork will be here when you get back.”

 

She grabs her jacket and walks across to Granny’s. Walking inside, she freezes. Regina’s there, sitting at a table across from Robin Hood, legs crossed, back rigid and arms clenched at her sides. Robin leans forward, hands on the table. He’s talking and Emma sees rage flash across Regina’s face as she moves to the counter and, purely coincidentally, closer to the table.

 

“There’s no need to be concerned, Robin,” Regina says, speaking loudly and enunciating every word and Emma’s totally, definitely not eavesdropping, holding a menu like she doesn’t know exactly what she wants and watching Regina out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve found happiness somewhere else. Somewhere surprising.” Emma’s stomach heaves at these words and probably she should question why Regina finding happiness with someone else horrifies her so much but there’s no time because Robin responds.

 

“Who with?” he demands. “We’re soul mates, Regina. That doesn’t just go away.” Emma kind of wants to punch him in his smarmy face. Apparently it’s okay that his happiness is elsewhere, but not Regina’s. Asshole.

 

“I will not be the other woman while you work out your life,” Regina says. “And I will not break up a family.” Her lips curve into a smirk, menacing and sharp, her lipstick too bright and slashed across her mouth like blood. “And in answer to your question, with _her_.” She jerks her head towards Emma who has never been more grateful for the menu obscuring part of her face.

 

“The Swan girl?” Robin’s dubious.

 

“That’s Sheriff Swan to you,” Emma says coolly, giving up the pretence that she’s not listening in.

 

“Ah, Emma,” Regina purrs and Emma feels that hot, red flush spread across her cheeks and as though hypnotised, she moves forward. Regina holds out her hand and Emma takes it, feeling her skin soft and cold beneath her palm. “I know we said we would keep this a secret, dear, but I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma says, the roof of her mouth dry. “Secret. No one knows.”

 

“Aren’t you with Hook?” Robin asks, lip curled. She doesn’t understand this animosity towards her; she brought his damn wife back.

 

“No,” Emma says, curt, and Regina grins, teeth bared, predatory and possessive.

 

“The pirate was a stopgap,” Regina says. “A temporary distraction while Emma waited for me to realise my _true_ feelings.”

 

Robin stands abruptly, lips downturned. “Come over for dinner, both of you,” he says and Emma sees it as a challenge. “As I said before, Marian would like to get to know you as you are now.”

 

“That sounds lovely,” Regina says. “Right, Emma?”

 

Pressure is placed on Emma’s hand so hard that it bruises, and Emma chokes out, “yes, lovely.”

 

Robin stands and, with one last, suspicious glance at Regina and Emma (Regina smiles more widely and Emma becomes concerned that her face might snap in half), he leaves. Immediately, Regina drops her hand and Emma feels the loss.

 

“What the hell, Regina?”

 

“He was just being so … patronising,” she says. “Oh, Regina. You will find happiness. I so wish it could be with me. Marian is the mother of my child, my life, my light, blah blah blah. I just couldn’t help myself.”

 

“But me?” Emma asks, taking Robin’s vacated seat, still warm. “You could have picked anyone more believable.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Regina says. “It makes a certain amount of sense on paper. Henry’s two mothers, all that fighting, making magic together, tentative trust built. Destroyed of course, but Robin needn’t know that. Plus, I knew it would really irritate him.”

 

Emma wants to ask why but also doesn’t want to push her luck. “And you expect me to go along with this?”

 

“I don’t know how else to put this, Ms Swan,” Regina says, leaning forward. “You owe me and I’m calling to collect.”

 

So Emma nods. “Just tell me when you need me.” She wonders how long it will take before this blows up in her face, before Hook or her mother or, worst of all, Henry finds out about their ‘relationship’. She gives it two days.

 

Regina smirks. “Oh, Ms Swan, I will.”

 

*

 

The next day there is a note left on her desk, along with a box. _I will pick you up at seven tonight._ It’s unsigned, though she recognises the handwriting. She opens the box and pulls out a dress. It’s short and black and mostly backless and David just about has a heart attack when he sees it.

 

“You’re not wearing that,” he says.

 

“To prom? With that boy?” Emma asks, though she almost wishes she was young enough that her dad could forbid it. There’s something comforting in the clichés that she never experienced. The thing is, she actually owns a pretty similar dress already, remnants of her year in New York where Regina’s memories influenced her personal style. It’s just like Regina to assume she’d show up to dinner in jeans and a tank top, unless given a suitable alternative.

 

“Bit late for the over-protective father bit?” David asks.

 

“Little bit,” Emma says but she smiles. “How’s Snow? And the baby?” She still can’t quite get her head around the baby’s name. She wishes they’d actually talked with her about it first. She’s been to visit but she’s keeping her distance, the whole thing still a bit raw.

 

“They’re good,” David says. “Not a lot of sleep happening for any of us but we’re happy and healthy and _together_.” Emma tries not to let that last word stab her. She knows she’s not being replaced, that after thirty years her parents have every right to want another child, but she can’t help the envy that wells up inside of her when she contemplates her baby brother. “Why the dress?” David asks after a moment.

 

“Dinner,” Emma says and doesn’t elaborate further.

 

She makes it back to her new apartment in time to shower and change. Henry found it for them and it’s apparently easy to get an apartment when you’re the saviour so they moved in pretty much immediately. Emma still hasn’t unpacked properly and Ikea kit sets are stacked around the place for anything non-essential, like bookshelves and coffee tables. Henry called earlier; he’s spending the night at Nick’s. They’ll play video games and eat junk food and he’ll come home tomorrow cranky and over-stimulated.

 

She slips her feet into high heels when Regina texts her. _Hurry up._

 

She contemplates replying that it’s barely seven but just grabs her handbag, shrugging on her coat. Outside, Regina’s car is idling by the curb. Emma slides into the passenger seat and looks over at her. “Hey.”

 

Regina does not respond. She’s dressed in grey and Emma realises she hasn’t seen Regina in pant suits in a while. She misses the shorter hair, too, the air of power, authority, dominance, that her short haircut and tailored suits demonstrated. This new look is gentler, as though Regina’s trying to make herself smaller and softer.

 

“So,” Emma says into the silence, filled only by the purr of the motor. “What’s the story?”

 

Regina looks over at her, briefly. Her face is shuttered. “Story?”

 

“Yeah,” Emma says. “We’re playing a fake relationship, so how did we get together?” She’s well-versed in this kind of role play – with Neal to scam people, as a bounty hunter. You always need a story. _Blind date on the internet to catch a mark. Young, pregnant and so happy to rob a convenience. Flirting across a bar to gather intel. Kissing a stranger to avoid being spotted by the cops._

 

Regina drives. It’s dark and the streets, as they always are in Storybrooke, are empty. “Two weeks ago,” she says. “You showed up at my house to apologise. We talked. You confessed some feelings for me.”

 

“I’m the one who admitted my feelings?” Emma asks. “Really?” Regina’s the one who wears her heart on her sleeve, not Emma, who represses and pushes down and holds back. It’s one of the reasons it didn’t work with Hook.

 

“Well, it can’t possibly be me, can it?” Regina says. “How flaky would that make me?”

 

“Fine.” Emma sighs. “I assume Robin knows you’re less-than-straight.”

 

“It came up,” Regina says. “I didn’t discriminate in the enchanted forest.” Emma remembers those eyes raking over her body, the attention paid to ample cleavage. The flutter in her chest at seeing not-Regina look at her with undisguised lust.

 

“I’m bi,” Emma says and Regina nods, like she knows. And of course she does because pre-curse breaking, Emma and Ruby had a thing and the mayor definitely had Sidney sneaking around during that brief period. Emma’s actually surprised it hasn’t come up before now. “So this relationship, not all sunshine and roses?”

 

“No,” Regina says. She stops talking, glancing in the rear-view mirror, indicating to turn left. “But we’re in a good place now. We care for one another.”

 

Emma nods. “I do, you know,” she says. “Care about you.”

 

“How sweet,” Regina drawls. “We’re here. Do try not to embarrass yourself, Ms Swan.” She gets out of the car, grabbing a bottle of wine from the backseat and a Tupperware container. Emma thinks it contains an apple turnover and she grins guiltily.

 

“Emma,” she says. They’re standing in the driveway of a small wooden house, somewhere on the outskirts of town. Emma wonders when Robin left the campsite.

 

“What?”

 

“If you’re going to sell a relationship, you probably want to call me Emma. Unless you think the whole ‘Ms Swan’ thing is a turn-on but then you should probably work on not sneering while you say it.”

 

Regina’s face flushes. “Fine. Emma. Get out of the damn car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the fake relationship trope and by the time I came to write one when it actually made sense, early in 3B so many people had done it so beautifully I gave up on the idea. So this is me giving it a try now post-season three.
> 
> Worth continuing I hope. I don't see this becoming a lengthy saga. What I have planned is maybe five or six chapters.


	2. In which Emma’s car is threatened

It is Roland who answers the door, thumping footsteps signalling his arrival. “Regina!” he says, grinning, dimples flashing. He’s got a delightful lisp, R’s sounding more like W’s, and Emma wonders, not for the first time, whether Regina’s really in love with Robin or if it’s actually this little boy who stole her heart.

 

Regina shoves the wine and Tupperware container (and yes, it’s definitely turnover, Emma thinks, peering into the container) at Emma. Then she bends down, letting Roland wrap his arms around her neck and lifting him up. “Hello, darling,” she murmurs into his curls. “Oof, I’ve missed you.”

 

“I miss you too,” he says, craning his head back and poking at her cheeks, tracing her lips with his index finger. “Where you go?”

 

“I’ve been very busy,” Regina says. “But you’ve had your mama to spend time with.”

 

Roland’s face wrinkles. “Yeah.” He doesn’t sound convinced though and Emma’s heart breaks for Marian, because it’s Regina’s fault that Roland doesn’t know her in so many ways and now she’ll have more proof of that.

 

Marian appears in the hallway, an apron over a long skirt and blouse that tell Emma that she’s not quite used to Storybrooke fashion yet. “Emma, how wonderful to see you,” she says, smiling widely and genuinely. Emma hands over the wine and turnover. “Regina,” Marian adds, with a terse nod.

 

If Regina’s offended by the cool reception, she doesn’t let it show. “Marian. Thank you for inviting us to dinner.” She sets Roland down but he still holds her hand.

 

“Daddy’s in kitchen,” Roland says and drags Regina along with him.

 

Emma smiles. “How are you getting on?”

 

“Good,” Marian says. “It is a culture shock.” She uses the term as though it is a foreign language to her. She has been seeing Archie, Emma suggested it, and Emma suspects it’s a term he’s given her to explain her feelings. “But I have my family again and that is worth _everything_.”

 

Emma follows her into the kitchen, where Robin stands at the stove, tea towel over his shoulder, sautéing onions. Regina is perched on a barstool, still in her coat, Roland sitting on the kitchen counter and fiddling with the ends of the scarf draped around Regina’s neck. Marian places the wine in the fridge and the turnovers on the counter, before wrapping an arm around Robin’s waist and kissing his cheek. “Where should I put our coats?” Emma asks, nudging Regina who unbuttons hers, unravels the scarf and hands both over.

 

“Hall closet,” Robin says, gesturing with his elbow at the door and Emma, already grateful for the chance to escape what looks to be an incredibly awkward evening, follows.

 

Emma unbuttons her own coat and hangs it beside Regina’s, tugs at the hem of the dress. She’s worn her own dress, a minor rebellion against Regina’s incessant need to control everything. It is leather and short and she wore it when Walsh proposed in New York so she knows it works on her. Regina looks murderous on her return to the kitchen and Emma worries for a second that it’s down to the dress but it turns out it’s because Robin and Marian are soppily romantic and into PDAs. Currently, Robin’s hand is tangled in her hair and she’s kissing his cheek and Emma wants to scream at him for his lack of sensitivity because how dare he flaunt his happiness in front of Regina?

 

Instead Emma touches Regina’s hand, clenched tight on the bench top, and whispers, “be angry at me instead. Look, I wore the wrong dress.”

 

Regina turns to look at her and her gaze drops, taking in the dress. It is not unlike being stared at by the evil queen in the Enchanted Forest, teeth bared (she wouldn’t call it a smile, she’s seen Regina’s smile and it’s not that), though this time it’s Emma’s legs, encased in black opaque stockings, that are getting all the attention.

 

“So, when did you guys move in here?” Emma asks, dragging her own eyes away from Regina’s scrutiny.

 

“A fortnight ago,” Robin says, breaking apart from Marian at last and adding garlic and spices to the frying pan, which sizzles.

 

“I wanted Roland to have somewhere stable to grow up,” Marian says. “We are no longer outlaws in this town.” She takes a moment to shoot a glare at Regina, which seems unfair given that from what Emma can work out, Robin Hood was robbing from the rich and giving to the poor long before the evil queen came into the picture. ”We do not need to live in the woods.”

 

Roland scowls, kicking his feet against the side of the kitchen island. “I like the woods.”

 

“Honey,” Marian says. She’s so calm. Emma can’t quite fathom it. “I thought you liked your race car bed.”

 

Roland shrugs his shoulders and Emma is reminded of Henry. If Regina wasn’t too busy hurting, she suspects she and Marian would have a lot to talk about. “The food smells delicious,” Emma settles on saying.

 

“Thank you!” Marian says, barely managing the cork screw for the wine. “Drink?” Emma accepts the glass of wine gratefully. A glass is then reluctantly poured for Regina who has been useless and silent this whole time, watching the back and forth between Marian and Roland with something akin to delight, eyes flashing. “Would you like a tour?” Marian asks and Emma accepts, leaving Regina with Robin and Roland, Regina shooing her away when she attempts to ask if she’ll be okay alone with him.

 

It’s a charming three bedroom bungalow, rather under-furnished. How they’re affording it, Emma doesn’t know because as far as she knows Robin doesn’t have a job and Marian certainly doesn’t. “Roland will come around,” Emma says softly as they peer into the boy’s bedroom, toys strewn across the floor.

 

“It’s disturbing,” Marian says, pulling her dark curls back from her face and securing it with an elastic. “Seeing him prefer the evil… Regina.”

 

“He just doesn’t know you yet,” Emma says.

 

“I’m his mother,” she says and to Emma’s horror tears threaten to leak from Marian’s eyes. “He should know me.”

 

“At least you only missed three years,” Emma says because sympathy has never been her strongest suit. “I missed ten.”

 

“Henry?”

 

“Yeah, but then Regina gave me false memories when we had to leave to save ourselves from the curse a year ago and even though it’s not real, it _felt_ real, you know?” Emma’s not thanked Regina, doesn’t know how to even begin to express her gratitude, but the devastation upon remembering it was a lie kind of killed her.

 

“No wonder you love her,” Marian says, wiping her eyes with her apron and smiling. “She gave you your son.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma says. Then, “wait, what?”

 

“The way you look at her, the way you talk about her,” Marian says. “I’m sorry, is that not love?”

 

Emma laughs. “No. No, no, no, no, no. No.”

 

“Not yet then,” Marian says. “But soon.” Emma falls silent. What the hell is Marian seeing that she’s missing? “We should probably head back to the kitchen.”

They enter to find Regina and Robin in conversation, which stops the moment Regina notices Marian and Emma are in the room. Emma raises her eyebrows. “Sorry for leaving you so long, Petal,” she says, grinning and moving to put an arm around Regina’s waist. Robin’s eyebrows draw close and his lips purse in this expression of horror. The nickname is worth it for his expression alone.

 

Emma yelps when Regina pinches her hip, fingers sharp and vicious. “Call me that again,” she murmurs in her ear, voice silky, “and I will set your car on fire.”

 

Marian’s looking at them, smiling softly, though Robin now appears suspicious. Emma drains her wine glass and pours herself a second.

 

Dinner is a bit of a fiasco. Regina, of course, cannot tone down the dismissive look of disgust at the admittedly mediocre pasta and it makes Emma grateful that she’s never tried to cook for her.

 

“This is lovely,” Emma says, out of politeness mostly and Regina raises an eyebrow at her from across the table.

 

Marian beams. “Robin helped. I’m still getting used to using the stovetop,” she says and something in that must speak to Regina on some level because she actually smiles at Marian, even though it’s pained, almost a grimace.

 

“I made the worst lasagne when I first arrived,” Regina says.

 

“And now it’s amazing,” Emma says.

 

“This one would eat nothing but lasagne if I let her,” Regina says and she smiles at Emma, the first somewhat genuine smile Emma’s had from her for a month and it’s depressing how happy that makes her.

 

“It’s true,” Emma says. God, Regina’s lasagne is amazing.

 

“You’ll have to give me the recipe,” Marian suggests timidly, as though expecting to be shot down but Regina just nods curtly and continues picking at her penne.

 

After dinner, Robin puts Roland to bed amidst protests that he’s not tired and attempting to get extra hugs from Regina. Emma helps Marian navigate the coffee machine and Regina excuses herself to the bathroom.

 

When the coffee has been made and Regina has still not returned, Emma goes to find her. She knocks at the bathroom door. “Regina? You okay?”

 

There’s no answer but the door is unlocked so Emma opens it, movements tentative because there’s every chance that Regina will throw a fire ball at her for interrupting her on the toilet or something. Instead, she finds Regina leaning against the sink; she’s gulping short, panicked breaths of air, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Get out,” she hisses.

 

“No,” Emma replies and she sits down on the edge of the bath, resting her elbows on her knees and staring up at Regina. “What do you need?”

 

Regina chokes out a sob. “For this to all be over.”

 

“Soon,” Emma says. “I promise. You’re doing great.”

 

“Shut up,” Regina says, forgetting to panic for a moment, and Emma laughs.

 

“That’s more like it.” She grabs a wad of toilet paper, wets it under the tap and stands. “Come here.”

 

Regina takes a step forward and Emma’s so close she can see the flecks of amber in her eyes that catch the light. Regina’s breathing is still jerky, chest rising and falling erratically. Emma tries desperately not to stare but Regina notices. “It’s just us, Ms Swan. You don’t need to try and sell anything in here.”

 

Emma laughs, the sound hoarse. “I know toilet paper’s not ideal but Marian doesn’t seem the type to have make up removing wipes.” She dabs at the smears of black under Regina’s eyes, the paper quickly coated in greyish streaks. Regina’s breathing calms under her ministrations. “So what did you and Hood talk about?” Emma asks.

 

“None of your business,” Regina says, body tensing back up.

 

“What? As your girlfriend I don’t get to be curious?”

 

“As someone who merely owes me a favour, no you do not.”

 

“Worth a try,” Emma says, shrugging. “There, all better.”

 

“Thank you,” Regina mutters. Her eyes are still red, which Emma can see if she looks too closely but hopefully no one besides her will be staring deep into Regina’s eyes tonight.

 

Then she hears footsteps and realises she forgot to shut the bathroom door behind her. “Regina? Emma? Everything all right in there?” The one thing going through Emma’s mind is that Robin cannot know that Regina’s been crying, cannot know that he has made her unhappy.

 

“Do you trust me?” Emma asks.

 

“No,” Regina says and Emma’s heart flutters because that was a lie. Regina is lying. Regina trusts her.

 

“Remember,” Emma says, smiling softly. “I can always tell when you’re lying.” She leans forward.


	3. In which peace lasts two and a half hours

For one brief moment she thinks about kissing Regina, imagining winding a hand through her hair, tasting the salt from her dried tears on her lips. But as much as she knows Regina trusts her deep down, she’s not sure she’ll be able to handle it and a slap would really ruin the façade they’re building.

 

Instead, she hugs her, embraces really, tucking Regina’s soft, dark hair behind her ear and whispering, “try and look like you’re enjoying yourself.” Sell it, Swan, she thinks, and moves her other hand down to Regina’s waist, fingers splaying, dancing along the curve of her hip. From the doorway, she hopes it will look like she’s kissing Regina’s neck. Regina’s frozen against her, hands limp at her sides but, fortunately, she has the presence of mind to curl one around Emma’s butt as a figure appears at the open bathroom door.

 

“Sorry,” Robin says and they break apart hurriedly. He doesn’t sound particularly sorry. He sounds pissed off, voice sharp.

 

“No, _we’re_ sorry,” Emma says and she can’t help but sound just a little smug. “Got a bit carried away.” She grins and tugs down the hem of her dress, which has ridden up with the butt grabbing. “You know how it is.”

 

She hopes Robin is thinking of Henry catching him and Regina making out in the hallway of Snow and David’s apartment building. Henry had told Emma about that later. “It was kind of gross, Emma,” he’d said and Emma had been reminded that he’s still a little kid, that no matter what he’s been through he’s still so young, so innocent. “I’m just glad I didn’t know she was my mom then.”

 

Robin nods. “The coffee’s ready.” He’s frowning, lines creasing across his forehead, and Emma looks over at Regina, who, with wild hair and reddened cheeks, is resplendent, triumphant.

 

“We’ll be there in a moment,” she says. “Won’t we, dear?” She turns to the mirror and starts fixing her hair.

 

But Emma follows Robin. “You really are in a relationship, aren’t you?” he says, stopping outside the living room and turning to face her, frowning. There’s a catch in his voice and Emma would feel sorry for him if he didn’t irritate her so much.

 

“Yeah,” Emma replies. “For sure. Definitely.”

 

“I don’t like this,” he says and Emma feels suddenly justified in her dislike.

 

“Oh no,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your opinion is so important to me. We will break up immediately.”

 

“You know you’re just a rebound, don’t you?” he says. “It’s a bit obvious really.”

 

“How so?” Emma asks. She doesn’t want to look at the self-righteous sneer on his lips so she focuses on the old-fashioned floral pattern of the wallpaper just behind his head.

 

“Blonde, cocky thief with a rougher upbringing and a small child Regina loves? She’s replacing me with you,” he says. He’s got this superior expression on his face, like he’s sure he’s won. “The poor replacement.”

 

Emma runs it through her mind, offended as she is that this man is comparing the two of them. This is not the time to sort out complex emotions or to re-assess her own feelings. All she needs to do is put Hood in his place, to sell the fake relationship. “Did it ever occur to you,” she says, as she passes him to enter the living room, “that you were the poor replacement?” Robin tenses and Emma knows she’s scored a hit.

 

Marian must sense the tension because she’s looking between the two of them, dark eyes wide and worried. Emma is triumphant, shoulders back and a smile blossoming on her face, and Robin is fuming.

 

Emma apologises for the delay. “Regina’s on her way,” she says, pouring herself a coffee. It is perfectly brewed, in that it’s really strong, and it has a nutty aftertaste that Emma appreciates. When Regina returns, hair perfect, she takes a mug, stirring two spoons of sugar and a generous helping of creamer into her own, before settling down on the couch beside Emma.

 

It’s really awkward. Regina seems determined not to make conversation with Marian, that brief period of common ground found at dinner now lost. Marian is equally as nervous around her, focusing her attention on Emma and Robin instead. She avoids making eye contact with Regina altogether. Emma’s mind is busy playing over the conversation she had with Robin. Is Robin _jealous_ of her? Is this what Regina meant when she suggested that the two of them dating would really irritate him? It’s a ludicrous thought, especially since Regina’s only doing this to save her pride in front of the man she cares about.

 

Eventually, Marian breaks the silence that has been spreading like a thick haze across the living room. “So,” she asks, tucking bare feet under her on the other couch and leaning against Robin. “What’s the story here?” She gestures between the two of them with her coffee mug.

 

Regina shrugs. “There’s always been a frisson,” she says and Emma can’t help the look of surprise that she shoots Regina’s way. Regina shrugs again and wraps an arm around Emma’s shoulders.

 

“She gave me her happy ending,” Emma says because Marian already thinks that’s when Emma fell for her and she doesn’t want their story to get too twisted. “I will never stop being grateful for that.” Regina stares at her, eyes big and dark and shining, and the smile that plays across her lips is almost sincere. “I thought she was hot well before then.” And Regina chokes on her coffee.

 

“Since when?” Robin asks and Regina raises an eyebrow.

 

“Yes, when, Ms Swan?” Robin notices the slip and smirks and it irritates Emma so she throws caution to the wind and tells the truth because why the hell not? Regina should know that she’s attractive, that she’s enough, even when it’s not coming from the right person, not from the person that she wants to be enough for.

 

“When you invited me in for cider,” Emma says.

 

Regina is silent for a moment. Then, in a small voice, she says, “it was much later for me,” and Emma knows she’s lying and she wonders why because finding someone attractive is not the same as wanting to be in a relationship with them and it’s been made abundantly clear over the years that Regina does not want that.

 

Not that Emma does either, of course.

 

“Enough about us,” Emma says, draining her coffee. She changes the subject to the potholes on the main road, mainly because any suggestion that Storybrooke isn’t perfect pisses Regina off and if she’s grouchy, she won’t have the emotional capacity to feel sorry for herself. Soon she looks at her phone. It’s nine thirty, which Emma feels is an eminently suitable time to leave. “We should get going, honey,” she says and Regina’s glare suggests she’s skating on thin ice with the endearment. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow, remember?”

 

Regina nods. “Thank you,” she says, gesturing vaguely at Marian. “We shall have to return the favour some time.” It’s said for politeness’ sake only but Robin latches onto it.

 

“Next Friday?” he suggests. “Your place?”

 

Regina freezes for a moment and Emma can practically see the cogs shifting and turning, trying to work out how to get out of this. “Of course. Friday works for us, doesn’t it, Emma?”

 

“Yes?” Emma says. She wonders if perhaps they’re sounding a bit too domestic and couple-y for people who have been together for a fortnight but then it sounds like the Enchanted Forest was all about people meeting and immediately marrying so maybe Robin and Marian don’t find it as bizarre as she does. She wonders for the first time how long Regina knew Robin for her to be so devastated by her loss of him.

 

Regina glares at her and she realises that she was supposed to object to the day. But it’s too late. Marian promises to bring dessert and hands Regina back her Tupperware. They grab their coats and walk out to the car, Regina curling her hand into Emma’s.

 

“Robin’s watching,” she murmurs in Emma’s ear. “We’re going to give him a show.”

 

Emma wants to ask what the point is; he’s already buying it. But then she’s pressed up against the car, shoved none too lightly by Regina, their bodies flush against each other, and she kind of loses her train of thought. She can feel the press of Regina’s thighs against her own; the touch of her fingers skating up Emma’s arm is electric and then Regina’s hands are curled in Emma’s hair, jerking her head forward. Her lips are close to Emma’s, so close that if Emma was so inclined she could shift an inch and clamp her lips against Regina’s, bite her bottom lip.

 

But she doesn’t. Because she’s resisted so far, resisted in the bathroom earlier that evening, resisted when Regina invaded her personal space every single time they fought, resisted all those moments when Regina would look at her with _that_ smile and Emma thought maybe, just maybe there was something there. And she’ll keep resisting because the last thing Regina needs is to have to deal with Emma fucking up again.

 

Instead, she turns her head towards the house. The shadowy figure at the door steps back and the door closes, the rectangle of light disappearing. “I think he’s gone,” she whispers and Regina shifts back, pulls her keys from her coat pocket.

 

“Move, Ms Swan,” she says.

 

“What?” Emma shakes her head, trying to clear her brain.

 

“You’re blocking the driver’s door.” There’s a hint of impatience in her voice. Emma moves around to the passenger side, gets in.

 

Regina pulls out of the driveway and Emma fiddles with her coat, playing with the large buttons. “So, dinner next week,” she says. “Perhaps we should, like, ‘break up’ before then.”

 

Regina sniffs. “Do you have a better offer? Thinking of giving the pirate another go?”

 

“Are you jealous, Mills?” Emma asks and Regina sneers.

 

“No, but no one would ever believe that you could go from me to the unwashed miscreant.”

 

Emma laughs. “If they bought us as a couple, they’ll believe anything.”

 

Regina’s silent for a moment. “Is it so very ridiculous?”

 

“No,” Emma says and she feels like they might be getting into awkward territory. “I mean you’re crazy hot and, like you said, we make sense on paper.”

 

“Just not in real life.”

 

“Well, you’re in love with someone else,” Emma says, attempting a joking tone, which falls flat. “It does put a bit of a damper on things.”

 

“Yes,” Regina says. “I love Robin. He’s my soul mate.”

 

“And I’m the bitch who destroyed it for you,” Emma says.

 

“Yes.” She doesn’t sound as sure of this as she did a month ago, or even the other day in the diner.

 

“I’d do it again, you know,” Emma says. “Bring Marian back with me. That doesn’t mean I’m not sorry that it hurt you.”

 

“I know,” Regina says. She doesn’t sound angry, just resigned.

 

Regina takes a sharp left, forgetting to indicate, and pulls to a stop outside Emma’s building. “Hey, you might want to think about helping Marian out with Roland,” Emma suggests. “I think she’s struggling with her relationship with him and the kid really likes you.”

 

“I’m not helping that woman with anything,” Regina says, ice in her voice.

 

“I just thought that you know what she’s…”

 

“ _Don’t_ compare me to her,” Regina says. “I think we’re done here, Ms Swan. I’ll be in touch about next Friday.”

 

“God, whatever,” Emma says and she gets out of the car, slamming the door. She raps on the window and Regina rolls it down. “You are totally insufferable, you know?”

 

“And you’re a life-ruiner.”

 

“Don’t do anything stupid, your majesty,” Emma says and stomps into her apartment building, slamming the entranceway doors with unusual force.

 

Fuck, she needs a drink. Or ten.


	4. In which Henry definitely does not concoct an operation

 

One hand grips the headboard. The other is buried in dark locks, tugging just a bit too hard. She gasps as lips hum along her thighs, tantalisingly close to where she wants them, needs them. She clenches, arousal building, heart pounding, breath stuttering.

 

There’s banging at the door. “Ma? Emma!”

 

She groans and rolls over. She’s in bed alone, light is streaming in through the curtain-less window and Henry is at her bedroom door. “One moment, kid,” she yells and footsteps dim, Henry heading in the direction of the living room.

 

She wriggles, stretching her arms and yawning, whole face crumpling up. The heat low in her belly is starting to dissipate, the dream fading into oblivion. She should be concerned that she’s having dreams about Regina ( _again_ , her traitorous mind reminds her, because when she first moved to Storybrooke she had a whole fucked up fantasy life involving Henry’s mother before the curse broke and things got even more complicated) but she’s too tired to even contemplate it.

 

Henry has put on the coffee when she drags herself into the kitchen, having wrapped a robe around herself because he so doesn’t need to see his mom wearing boy shorts, a tank top and nothing else. ”You’re my favourite son,” she says, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pressing a kiss into his hair.

 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Remember that when I ask you for a raise in my allowance.”

 

She pours herself a coffee and she’s just taken a huge gulp when Henry casually mentions, “so you’re dating my mom?” and Emma spits her coffee over the kitchen bench.

 

“What?” she splutters, grabbing a cloth. Some of the coffee has landed on her robe, the dark liquid seeping through the thin satin and onto her tank top.

 

“I bumped into Ruby on my way home,” he says. “She said Robin and Marian were in at the diner this morning and they mentioned that you guys had come over for dinner _as a couple_. What the hell, Ma?” Since he’s regained his memories of Regina, he’s started calling Emma ‘Ma’ and ‘Emma’ alternately so as not to confuse her with Regina who is always ‘Mom’. Emma finds she likes Ma, thinks that perhaps she would want to be called that even if she was the only mother Henry had.

 

Emma resists the urge, just barely, to bang her head against the refrigerator in the hopes that maybe if she sustains serious brain damage Henry will forget this titbit of gossip in his panic about his mother’s health. “Yeah, about that…” she says.

 

“When were you planning on telling me?” he asks.

 

“Kid, it’s not like that,” she says.

 

“I mean, it’s awesome,” Henry says and anything Emma’s brain is trying to formulate to explain this without her and Regina coming off as total freaks just disappears. “You and Mom. It totally makes sense. I just wish you’d told me.”

 

Oh God. “We should talk to your mom about this,” Emma says and grabs her phone. “Give me a minute.”

 

She dials Regina. The phone rings and rings but Regina doesn’t answer. “Damn it, Regina,” Emma hisses after the answer phone has beeped. “Call me back. Your _soul mate_ has spread our relationship around town and now Henry knows.”

 

She returns to the kitchen where Henry is waiting expectantly. “So, how did it happen?” he asks.

 

“I don’t know,” Emma mumbles. Her phone rings and she answers it without looking at the screen, desperate to avoid this conversation with Henry. “Regina?”

 

“No, it’s your mother,” Snow says and Emma’s heart sinks, though Snow sounds amused, not annoyed. “Oh, darling, why didn’t you tell me how you felt?” Of course Ruby’s told her best friend. Of course.

 

“I just, I don’t know,” Emma says weakly. While she might tell Henry what’s really going on, Snow is the worst liar Emma’s ever met. She’ll never be able to keep up the charade and Regina will kill them both if the truth gets out.

 

“I want you to know,” Snow says. “I am fully supportive of your choice. While Regina and I may have had our differences…”

 

“You tried to kill each other,” Emma interjects. “Multiple times.” Henry glares at her and shakes his head but, seriously, could Snow speak any more euphemistically?

 

“While we had our differences,” Snow says more loudly, barrelling forward. “We have worked through our issues and if you make each other happy then I’m just over the moon about that.”

 

“Great,” Emma says weakly.

 

“You’ll have to come over for a family dinner,” Snow says, the glee in her voice reaching a peak.

 

Emma groans, stifling the sound in the sleeve of her robe. “Awesome. Thanks, Mom. I have to go and… talk to Henry.” Henry looks over at her when she says this, eyes opening wider and a smile blooming across his face.

 

“I love you, sweetie,” Snow says.

 

“Love you too,” Emma says and hangs up, throwing the phone onto the bench with more force than is perhaps necessary.

 

“So,” Henry says, crossing his arms in a way that is eerily reminiscent of Regina’s intimidation tactics and reminds Emma, not for the first time, that genes are definitely only part of the puzzle. “Let’s talk.”

 

Emma runs a hand through her hair. “Can I maybe shower first?”

 

“Classic avoidance,” he says, now tapping his foot against the wooden floors. He’s clearly been spending too much time with Archie.

 

“Classic ‘your mom hasn’t showered and smells like sweat and alcohol’,” Emma retorts, lifting her arm and sniffing her pits for emphasis. “Give me ten minutes.” Henry rolls his eyes.

 

The hot water wakes her up and, once she’s washed her hair, her hands drift across her body and she’s reminded of her dream, of the dark head at the apex of her thighs. The coiled heat returns to the pit of her stomach and without thinking her hand drifts down, caressing her breaths, her stomach, down to the springy, blonde curls at the meeting of her thighs. Her index finger grazes her clit and she groans. Images of Regina form, unbidden, in her mind. She flicks, pinches, rubs in circles, her breathing coming on faster, other hand pressed hard against the wall of the shower to keep her upright.

 

“Ms Swan.”

 

At the sound of Regina’s voice from the hallway, something inside Emma snaps and she comes with a moan, the sound of water hitting tile masking the sound – she hopes. “One moment,” she yells and then realises. She came from hearing Regina’s voice.

 

Fuck. She can’t keep this charade up. She switches off the shower, legs shaky and heart still pounding slightly too fast.

 

She walks into her bedroom, one towel around her body and another in her hair and finds Regina sitting on the edge of her bed. Her legs are crossed and Emma is momentarily pleased to see a pant suit has made an appearance, the top button of her crisp white shirt straining. Then she remembers her own attire, or lack thereof, and clasps the towel tight against her chest. “Get out,” she screeches.

 

“Oh relax,” Regina says impatiently. “I’m not here to sully your virtue.”

 

“I am _naked_ ,” Emma hisses.

 

“Good spotting,” Regina says. “Very well observed. Now, I think we should tell Henry the truth.”

 

“Okay,” Emma says, still holding the towel protectively. There’s something predatory in Regina’s gaze, in the way her eyes seem stuck to the hem of the towel, Emma’s upper thighs on full display, though it’s entirely possible that’s just how Regina looks at people. “Look, Regina, don’t you think this has gone too far?”

 

“You owe me,” Regina says, meeting her eyes. Yup, she’s still angry. It’s there, simmering beneath the surface.

 

“This cannot continue indefinitely,” Emma says. “What? Are we going to move in together, get married, set up joint retirement plans, just so you can prove to the world that you don’t need Robin to be happy?”

 

“I know.” Regina plays with the ends of her scarf. “I just need a bit more time to get over him. Can you give me that time?” In the gamut of emotions Regina has expressed in the space of a minute, this vulnerability is the one thing that makes Emma melt.

 

“Fine,” she says, grouchy that she’s allowed Regina Mills to once again manipulate her guilt. “Snow knows, by the way.”

 

Regina looks up at the ceiling as though praying to some deity to give her strength. “She’s going to go out of her way to be the ultimate supportive mother, isn’t she?”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

“She’s going to have family dinners and set up a PFLAG chapter in Storybrooke and give you her engagement ring ‘just in case’.”

 

“That sounds about right,” Emma says. “Definitely the family dinners.”

 

Regina takes a deep breath. “She can’t know the truth.”

 

Emma just shrugs because she’d already come to that conclusion. “Whatever. Now, can you please leave the room so I can put some clothes on?”

 

Regina stands, edging past Emma, who is still frozen in the doorway, and Emma’s skin feels all hot and prickly as Regina brushes past. She pulls on jeans and a shirt, misbuttoning twice, before rushing into the living room.

 

Regina is sitting on the couch with a mug of coffee in her hand. Henry is leaning against her and Regina is stroking fingers through his dark hair. Emma takes a moment to be sentimental because isn’t it wonderful how far they’ve come? Then, she grabs herself another coffee and sits cross-legged on a kitchen chair.

 

“So,” Henry says. “When did this start?”

 

Regina sighs. “Darling, you need to keep this a secret.” She pauses, waiting for Henry to nod and when he does, she continues. “Emma and I are not in a relationship.”

 

Henry shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. Not buying it.”

 

“Kid, it’s true,” Emma says gently. “I’m just helping your mom out.”

 

“By pretending to be a couple?” Henry asks. He looks so dubious, an eyebrow raised and nose wrinkled.

 

“Yeah,” Emma says and then looks over at Regina. “You explain. I don’t quite understand it myself.”

 

“Robin has found his true… happy ending,” Regina says, as though the words hurt her. “I didn’t want him to think that this hurts me so I told him that I too had found someone else.”

 

“And your mind went immediately to Emma,” Henry says, smirking. “How _convenient_.”

 

“She was in the diner!” Regina says, voice higher than usual. Emma raises her eyebrows. “And I knew that she’d participate in any sort of ridiculous scheme to get me to forgive her.”

 

“So you guys are friends again?” Henry asks.

 

“We’re… working together to achieve a common goal,” Regina says and Emma snorts.

 

“Okay,” Henry says, hopping down from the couch and going to the fridge. It’s too easy and Emma’s willing to bet there’s some hideous plan already in the works. Operation Parent Trap or something.

 

“So,” Emma says as Regina stands. “I’ll see you Friday, I guess? Do you want to vet my wardrobe?”

 

“That dress was acceptable,” Regina says and Emma grins. “I trust you have something else suitable. Be there at six thirty. Henry, you are also welcome to stick around for dinner of course.” It will be Regina’s week with Henry.

 

“Ugh, think I’ll pass,” Henry says. “I can go to Nick’s again.”

 

Yeah, Emma thinks. He’s definitely plotting something. Henry _never_ turns down his mom’s cooking, especially when she’s cooking to impress people. Regina, however, doesn’t appear suspicious, merely hugging him fondly, nodding curtly at Emma, and leaving. “Spit it out, kid,” Emma says.

 

“What?” Henry’s eyes widen, his lower lip juts out.

 

“That innocent look is becoming increasingly less successful as you grow older,” she replies.

 

He sighs and shrugs. “I just think you guys could be really happy with a bit of a push.”

 

“Kid, your mom is _just_ getting over Robin…” She stands and moves into the kitchen, where Henry is constructing a sandwich that mostly involves left-over cold cuts and cheese whiz.

 

“But you like her, don’t you?” Henry asks.

 

“Not like that.”

 

“The lies are becoming increasingly less successful as you grow older,” Henry says.

 

“Smart ass,” Emma says, bumping him with her hip and sticking bread in the toaster. “All right, so I have some complicated feelings for Regina that this whole ridiculous situation has brought to the surface. But she does not feel the same way.”

 

“Let me worry about Mom,” Henry says, grinning.

 

“No operations, Henry.”

 

“Nice stern voice, Ma,” Henry just says. “Very convincing.”

 

She was so much better at being a disciplinarian in New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely response so far. I really appreciate the reviews and comments!


	5. In which the weather complicates matters

 

It’s blowing a gale and the rain is pounding down as Emma manoeuvres the bug into Regina’s driveway. Bracing herself, she opens the door and runs up to the porch. Even just that brief stretch gets her sopping wet. She bangs on the door and waits, dripping onto the welcome mat.

 

“Have you heard of umbrellas?” Regina asks when she opens the door. She looks entirely too put together and Emma’s suddenly very aware of her hair and how it must look, the curls she’d painstakingly created sodden with water.

 

“No,” Emma says, batting her eyelashes. “Whatever is an umbrella?”

 

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Ms Swan,” Regina replies, raising an eyebrow. It’s an unfair comment because she _lives_ in sarcasm and snide remarks.

 

“Can I maybe come in?” Emma asks. “Or have you got more rude comments to make to your beloved girlfriend?”

 

Regina rolls her eyes and steps aside, though she won’t let Emma step further forward than the doorway until she has removed her coat and shoes. “Acceptable outfit?” Emma asks. It’s her red, ‘catch bail jumpers using her assets’ dress. She hasn’t worn it since she moved to Storybrooke; there hasn’t really been an occasion for something like it. But tonight she wants to feel hot and in control and this dress has always done the job for her.

 

Regina’s cheeks flush pink. She actually seems lost for words. “The effect is kind of lost without the heels,” Emma says, shifting from one bare foot to the other.

 

“It will do,” Regina says, forcing her eyes back to Emma’s face, and Emma grins.

 

“Where do you need me?” she asks.

 

“They’re arriving at seven,” Regina says, walking into the kitchen and gesturing to Emma to follow. “Everything is prepared. I simply wanted it to look as though you were spending some time here, which means not arriving at the same time as the guests.”

 

“Ah, cunning,” Emma says. With some difficulty she gets onto a bar stool, hiking her dress up her thighs. Regina grimaces at her unladylike slouch, legs apart, feel curled around the legs of the stool to keep her on it. “You have a drink for me?”

 

Regina pours her a cider, grumbling about lazy sheriffs who don’t pull any weight around the place as she does so.

 

“So,” Emma says. “How are you feeling about Robin?”

 

Regina stills for a moment, chopping spring onion for a salad. “Better,” she says after contemplation. “Day by day, it gets easier to stick to doing the right thing.”

 

“How long were you with him?” Emma asks. Regina had kept Robin very quiet. Emma knew who he was. She’d even had a moment of serious fangirling when David introduced him to her because they’d had the Disney movie in one of her foster homes when she was a little kid and she’d worn out the video watching that wonderful fox so often. But she and Regina had never talked about him; it was almost as if Regina didn’t want her to know, which is ridiculous, of course.

 

“A couple of weeks,” she says.

 

“What?” Emma asks because she’d imagined some serious year long romance back in the enchanted forest. “Seriously?”

 

“Length of time knowing someone does not dictate strength of feeling,” Regina snaps. “Your parents are living proof of that.”

 

“Sorry,” Emma says, chastened. “I didn’t mean to judge…”

 

“And yet you did.” Regina tosses salad ingredients. She then pours quantities olive oil, vinegar, maple syrup and seeded mustard into a jar and shakes it, before drizzling it over the salad. Emma’s confused about the maple syrup but then she buys ranch dressing from the supermarket and calls that fine dining.

 

“You called him your soul mate,” Emma says. “Why?”

 

“You’re not going to give up on this, are you?” Regina asks.

 

Emma shakes her head, damp locks of hair moving across her shoulders, and rests her chin on her hands. “Please, save me the trouble of wheedling.”

 

Pixie dust,” Regina says, sighing. “A long time ago Tinkerbell tried to make me happy. She used dust to find my soul mate. We followed it to a tavern and I caught a glimpse of a man with a tattoo, the same as Robin’s.” Emma’s seen his tattoo, the lion on his wrist in thick, dark ink.

 

“What happened to making your own destiny?” Emma asks.

 

“He made me happy,” she says and there is exhaustion in her voice. “Can’t that be enough?”

 

Emma almost says it, almost tells Regina that she could make her happy if she let her, but she doesn’t. Instead, she says, “Henry remains unconvinced that we are not madly in love.”

 

“Oh God,” Regina says. “You did disabuse him of this, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Emma says, though she shifts uncomfortably on the barstool and is relieved to hear the ringing of the doorbell. “I’ll get it!” she says, leaping down from the stool.

 

She slips her feet back into her heels before opening the door though, despite the damp soles. She needs the height tonight. It’s still pouring with rain outside and Robin and Marian are drenched. “Oh my God,” Emma says, stepping aside. “Regina! We need towels.”

 

Regina appears from the kitchen. “I forgot you’d be walking,” she says. “I would have sent Emma to pick you up.”

 

“It’s quite all right,” Robin says, though his hair is dark with rain. A pool of water is forming at Marian’s feet and she shivers.

 

“Do I have your permission to use magic on you?” Regina asks. Robin nods immediately and, eventually, though her whole body is tensed, Marian nods as well. Regina waves her hands and dries them with magic.

 

Emma stares at her in outrage. “You didn’t offer that to me,” she says.

 

“You have your own magic, Emma,” Regina says. “Please remember to use it.”

 

Emma grimaces, concentrates and feels the fizzle of magic flow through her. Then, her shoes and hair are dry – though she is sceptical about what her suddenly dry hair must actually look like. “I’ll give you a lift home when we’re done here,” she says to Marian who smiles. “Drinks anyone?”

 

After drinks around the dining table, Regina brings in dinner, which is unsurprisingly delicious. Regina’s made lasagne, which Emma hopes is not so she can rub in Marian’s face her superiority as a chef. Emma can’t help but moan around a mouthful. “You’re a genius,” she says, mouth full.

 

“That would mean a great deal more if you had any semblance of table manners,” Regina says.

 

Emma swallows. “You love it.” The storm continues to rage, the rain so loud that the dining room is its own sanctuary, no other sounds breaching the room except the sharp sound of rain, the violent wind and thunder.

 

She’s pleased to see Regina briefly flustered. “Yes, well…” She clasps her hands together, one hand nervously grabbing at her fingers, and stares at her plate.

 

“So,” Emma says, turning to Robin and Marian. “How’s Roland?”

 

“Wonderful,” Robin says, smiling. She dislikes him a bit less when he talks about his son, which probably tells her that her aversion to him is rooted in resentment, not in anything real. “He’s just a treasure.”

 

Marian nods. “Yes, he’s… great.” Her expression is not dissimilar to the way Regina used to look when Henry was busy hating her; that inexpressible longing in her eyes, lower lip jutting out and one step away from tears. It’s got to be heart-breaking and Emma hopes that Robin has seen what’s going on and is helping Marian bond with her son who doesn’t know her at all.

 

“Is he still resisting?” Regina asks, voice neutral. “He’s a stubborn little boy.”

 

“That he is,” Robin says, proud.

 

Marian smiles tentatively at Regina. “I’d love to talk to you about him at some point,” she says. “He won’t stop babbling on about you.”

 

“Regina’s the baby whisperer,” Emma says. “She’s the only one Baby Neal stops crying for when he’s in a state.” It’s true, not that she’s seen evidence of it. Snow told her because Regina still saw Snow regularly, even as she avoided Emma like the plague.

 

“Dessert?” Regina asks, though she looks pleased and Emma notes that she doesn’t turn Marian down flat like Emma might have thought.

 

After dinner, they retire to the lounge for coffee and Emma curls up next to Regina on the leather sofa, even though there are plenty of spare spots. It’s pathetic, she knows, but she relishes the innocent feel of Regina’s body against hers. Regina strokes one hand down her arm, soft, barely there ghosting of fingertips, and Emma tries desperately to not let her body react to it. It’s still pouring with rain outside, the drops hitting the windows, lightning flashing periodically at the windows and thunder rumbling in the distance. Emma checks her phone and it’s supposed to pass by morning but it’s rough out, worse than it was at the start of the evening.

 

Marian’s yawning though and Robin presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “We should get home,” he says, apology in his voice, and Regina nods.

 

“I’ll just get my keys and then we’ll go,” Emma says, removing herself reluctantly from Regina’s side.

 

“We don’t want to put you out,” Marian says.

 

“It’s time I leave too,” Emma says.

 

“You weren’t planning to stay here?” Robin asks. Marian nudges him with her foot. “Sorry,” he adds. “None of my business.”

 

“Not that it is any of your business,” Emma replies. “But we’re taking this slowly. Henry didn’t even know until _you_ told Ruby.”

 

“We didn’t realise this was a secret,” Robin says. And perhaps she’s projecting because she’s anxious about this whole pretend relationship business that’s threatening to feel far too real to her, but he seems triumphant about this, as if it proves something.

 

“I don’t remember either you or Regina saying much about your relationship to the town at large,” Emma snaps. “Didn’t mean it wasn’t real.” Regina tenses and Marian examines her hands.

 

Emma turns on her heel and heads to the hall. She finds her coat on the hook and rummages around in the pockets. No keys. Was there a hole in her lining? She shakes the coat but her keys are definitely not there, no jangling of keys.

 

She checks the floor around her coat and the kitchen bench. Again, nothing. Grimacing, she opens the front door and braves the storm outside. She’s drenched in moments and shivering the cold. In her rush, she’s run out barefoot and coat-less. Using the light on her phone, she peers into the front window of her car. No keys in the ignition.

 

Regina’s at the front door when she runs back to the house, arms crossed and foot tapping a quick beat against the stoop. “A pretty poor escape attempt, Ms Swan,” she says, a bite in her voice.

 

“My keys have disappeared,” Emma says, teeth chattering. Her arms are bumpy with goose pimples and her hair is, for the second time in one evening, straggling across her face. She grimaces.

 

“They’re not in the ignition?” Regina asks.

 

“No,” Emma says. “I’ve checked everywhere for them.”

 

“You’ve had a proper look?” Regina asks.

 

“Of course,” she barks. “What do you take me for?” Then, she grimaces. “I’m going to kill Henry.”

 

“Pardon?” Regina asks, startled by the non-sequitur.

 

“I knew he had a plan,” Emma hisses. “And this weather is perfect for it.” She dials his cell phone, which rings and rings. “Henry Mills,” she snaps down the phone when she reaches the answerphone. “Answer the phone, you coward. I said no operations.”

 

“Just take my car,” Regina says.

 

“Go and look for your keys,” Emma says. “I’m willing to bet they’re gone.

 

Regina leaves and is back in a moment. “They’re missing,” she says. “Including the spares.”

 

“Sneaky bastard,” Emma mutters and Regina shoots her a dark look. Her phone vibrates and she checks it: _You’ll thank me later, Ma_.

 

Robin and Marian must sense something’s amiss because they enter the hall. “Is everything all right?” Robin asks.

 

“My car keys have gone missing,” Emma says.

 

“We can walk,” Marian says. “Really, it’s fine.” The open front door is blown shut with the wind at that moment, the slam knocking a painting off the wall.

 

“No,” Regina says, though it seems to cost her some effort. “You’ll stay here tonight.”

 

Emma tries to smile and sends Henry a text. _You’re going to be grounded until your graduate, kid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the continued amazing support of this little story. I'm really enjoying writing it!


	6. In which Regina gets competitive

 

Regina, ever the perfect host, removes herself to set up the guest bedroom. This leaves Emma in the hall with Robin and Marian, who are huddled close together now that they’re out of the warmth of the living room. Robin has an arm wrapped around Marian, hand tracing patterns on her shoulder and upper arm. Emma excuses herself, sneaks into Regina’s study and downs two glasses of cider in quick succession, trying desperately to stem the anxiety forming in the pit of her stomach.

 

Marian approaches her when she returns. “Are you all right?”” she asks.

 

“Fine,” Emma says, throat still burning from the kick of the strong cider. She kicks off her heels. The one good thing about the liquor is that she doesn’t feel cold anymore, in spite of her bare arms. “This wasn’t how I expected my night to end, that’s all.”

 

Marian smiles. “Your son certainly sounds… enterprising.”

 

“That’s one word for it,” Emma mutters, the cider finally settling in her stomach, loosening her limbs. She shifts from one foot to another. “The word I’d use is trouble.”

 

Marian laughs. “Why do you think he did it?”

 

Emma knows all too well. Henry thinks he’s helping. He thinks that forcing his mothers into close confines for a longer period of time might encourage them to admit to the feelings he is certain are there. He thinks that Lindsay Lohan movies are a model for real life behaviour. He couldn’t know that Robin and Marian would be stranded here too, that he’s just putting more pressure on Regina. If it was just the two of them, Emma could sleep in the guest room and, yes, she might spend the night awake, thinking about Regina, craving her, but at least Regina wouldn’t be upset. “Who knows?” she says because the alcohol might have loosened her body but she’s not a total idiot. “Childish prank formulated after too much sugar, I assume.”

 

It is then that Regina descends the staircase as though entering a ballroom. “The guest room is ready.” She then spots Emma’s shoes, lying haphazardly in front of the door, and glares at Emma until she clicks and stacks them neatly beside Henry’s Chucks.

 

She then escorts the three of them upstairs and Emma gets a glimpse of the elegant guest room, cream walls and violet damasked bedspread. “I found nightwear for you, Marian,” she says. “Robin, I’ve enlarged some of Henry’s pyjamas.” Emma spots a large set of flannel Iron Man pyjamas on one of the pillows and stifles a laugh. It comes out as a snort and Regina glares at her, though Emma meets Marian’s eye and she seems to find it amusing as well.

 

Obviously Iron Man is something that she has been introduced to since her arrival in Storybrooke. The townspeople are always good at getting the important things clear.

 

“Thank you, Regina,” Robin says, bowing his head. “We will be out of your hair first thing in the morning.”

 

“Well,” she says, staring uncomfortably between Robin and Marian. “We’ll leave you to it. The bathroom is down the hall.”

 

“Good night,” Marian says, wrapping an arm around Robin’s waist. Regina closes the door and Emma distinctly hears a giggle and grimaces because the last thing Regina needs to consider is what Robin and Marian could get up to in her guest bedroom.

 

She follows Regina next door to her own room. “I can sleep in Henry’s bedroom,” she whispers.

 

“Mmm, because that won’t look suspicious if you’re caught,” Regina says, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure I’ll be able to contain myself.”

 

Emma’s not so confident about her own self-control but follows Regina into the room. She’s never seen Regina’s bedroom before. She doesn’t exactly know what she was expecting but she’s surprised. Obviously some small part of her brain that has long since equated Regina with the evil queen has been envisaging some sort of ludicrous pseudo-medieval getup draped in black silks and velvets and possibly with chains hanging down from the ceiling. Instead it’s all elegant floral wallpaper and creamy fabrics and distressed wooden bedside tables.

 

“Nice digs,” Emma says and then blushes because, who says that? She regrets the cider.

 

Regina raises an eyebrow but thankfully chooses not to comment. She moves over to her dresser and rifles around, pulling out a set of blue silky pyjamas. “You can wear these,” she says. “Change in the bathroom. I put a toothbrush out for you.”

 

Emma takes the proffered pyjamas and closes the bathroom door behind her. She changes quickly, the silky fabric soft and unfamiliar against her skin. She’s not used to pyjamas, usually just taking off her bra and trousers and sleeping in whatever is left, but that is _so_ not an option tonight. She braids her hair back and knots it with a hair band she finds in a pouch under the sink, removes the toothbrush left on the sink from its plastic wrap and brushes vigorously.

 

Then, taking a deep breath, she re-enters the bedroom. Immediately, she realises she should have knocked. Regina is wearing a loose, grey pyjama shirt and is rubbing moisturiser into her gloriously bare legs. One leg dangles over the side of the bed while the other stretched out; her toned calves and thighs are smooth and shimmering as Regina’s hands stroke and knead her skin.

 

“Sorry,” Emma stammers and Regina turns to her.

 

“Are you done in there?”

 

“Yeah,” Emma says. She can feel her face burning and she’s all too aware that her nipples have hardened, stiff peaks rubbing against silk. She’d love to be able to attribute it to the cold but Regina’s room is toasty warm.

 

“One moment,” Regina says, standing gracefully and pulling on pyjama pants. Legs covered, Emma feels like she might be able to breathe again. The bathroom door shuts with a _snick_.

 

Emma stands in the bedroom, not really sure what to do with herself. Over on the dresser, she spots a couple of photo frames. Both feature Henry, one of him as a baby, gassy smile on his face and bundled up in a woollen blanket, and the other of him around the time he came and found Emma. She has a moment where she revels in nostalgia, considering how much he’s grown since she first met him. He has hit that awkward stage of adolescence where his round cheeks have narrowed and his features have sharpened but he’s still so indomitably a child.

 

“He’s growing up,” Regina says. She’s standing beside Emma, shoulders brushing against her. The touch sparks.

 

“I feel like I was there watching him grow up,” Emma says, turning to face her. “Thanks to you.”

 

Regina shrugs. “Couldn’t send you to New York without any memories. Henry’s safety was paramount.”

 

“Don’t,” Emma says. “You gave me something amazing.” Their eyes meet and Regina’s lips quiver into the beginnings of a smile and Emma is taken back to that evening in Regina’s office, attempting to recreate the memory potion, when Regina’s eyes softened and she held her gaze for just slightly too long.

 

The moment is lost by a squeal from the room next door, audible over the storm. Regina flashes an irritated look at the wall. “Seriously?”

 

“Ugh,” Emma says. But she listens hard and doesn’t hear anything else, at least not over the rain. “I don’t think–“

 

But the next thing she knows, Regina’s pressing her up against the wall separating the two bedrooms, slamming her own hand hard against it, creating a thump as though mimicking a body being slammed against a wall. “What are you doing?” Emma hisses.

 

“He won’t win,” Regina whispers, her breath hot against Emma’s ear. Emma can smell mint. Then, she moans. Loudly.

 

When Emma was eight, the foster home she was placed with included an eleven-year-old son. He was a creep and had several pet snakes in a glass terrarium in his bedroom. One time, he’d made her watch when the snakes were being fed live mice. In this situation, Emma’s the mouse. She’s seen this look in Regina’s eye before; she’s angry and she’s competitive and Emma can’t do anything but freeze in place and let it happen.

 

Regina continues to slap her palm against the wall rhythmically and breathy gasps and moans form at the back of her throat. They seem unnaturally loud to Emma but then, she’s got the wind and the rain to compete with. Then, she groans, “Emma,” her voice deep and husky, and Emma can’t help the shudder that spreads across her whole body, the heat and damp pooling between her thighs. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough and just right and Emma thinks she might combust if she doesn’t do something.

 

“Babe,” she says, touching Regina in the crook of her arm. “I thought we said we’d take it slow.”

 

Regina’s breathing slows, calms, and her eyes shift from black to brown. Emma smiles at her, lips quirked at one side. “Sorry,” Regina says. “I just…”

 

“I know,” Emma says. “Let’s go to bed.”

 

They lie side by side, Emma clinging to the edge of the mattress. “I’m sorry,” Regina murmurs, so quiet Emma almost misses it.

 

“Hey,” she says. “It’s okay.”

 

“It’s not,” Regina replies. “If this was actually a relationship I just completely ignored your wishes.”

 

“If this was actually a relationship I wouldn’t have been saying no,” Emma says and then swears under her breath. She can’t say shit like that because Regina picks up every nuance and she cannot know about the increasingly intense things Emma’s feeling. Emma can’t rip away Regina’s chance at a happy ending and then pile on the crap.

 

She can feel Regina’s body move, the sheets shifting, and then they are face to face; Emma can see the outline of Regina’s body in the grey light peeping through the cracks in the curtains. “What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Nothing,” Emma says, clenching her fists into the sheets and tensing.

 

“Liar.” There’s a touch of amusement in Regina’s voice.

 

“Yes.”

 

The only sound apart from the rain on the roof is Regina’s breathing. “We’re both attractive people,” she says. “I might not say no either.”

 

“What?” Emma’s voice comes out as a strangled yelp.

 

“I don’t know,” Regina continues, ponderous. “It might be nice. It’s been a while since I’ve shared my bed.”

 

“Nice?” Emma asks. “You and I would not be _nice_.” A walk on the beach is nice. Lasagne is nice. Watching television is nice. She and Regina could set the world on fire.

 

“I’m going to kill Henry,” Regina says, her tone light and conversational, as though remarking on the weather.

 

“Let’s just get some sleep,” Emma says, eyes drifting shut. “We’ll talk about how we can make Henry pay in the morning.”

 

Regina murmurs, “g’night,” and slowly her breathing evens out. Emma’s own mind goes quiet and her body relaxes into the mattress. She dreams about Regina though when she wakes she cannot remember the details.

 

When she does wake up, she’s no longer at the edge of the bed. Instead, she’s curled up with Regina, her head resting on her chest. Regina’s legs are entwined with hers. She shifts sleepily and Regina’s leg rubs up against the juncture of her thighs. A jolt of heat rocks through her body and she trembles, letting out a sharp gasp, muscles tensing.

 

Regina just mumbles sleepily, making soft clicking noises with her tongue and letting her arm drape across Emma’s breasts. And then she hears it. Regina is mumbling nonsense under her breath and she hears one word distinctly. “Emma.”

 

Emma freezes. Then, carefully, without waking Regina, she extracts her body, pulls her bra and dress back on and, leaves, shutting the door silently behind her.

 

She picks up her heels at the door, carrying them in her hands as she leaves.


	7. In which Emma keeps busy

Michael Tillman is up when Emma arrives at his home, flannel dressing gown wrapped loosely around his body and halfway through a cup of coffee. “Sheriff,” he says, eying up the tight, red dress and high heels with giving her a knowing smirk. “Want a drink?”

 

“No,” Emma says. She’s less polite than usual because the fifteen minute walk in four inch heels has given her the beginnings of two blisters and a generalised rage at the world. “Henry’s getting dragged home, kicking and screaming if needs be.”

 

Michael must recognise that Emma’s not a woman to be trifled with right now so he just gestures upstairs with his coffee mug. “Nick’s room is the second door along.”

 

Emma knocks on the bedroom door and then enters immediately. Henry is on a camp bed, head barely visible from beneath a pile of blankets, and he looks up, rubbing his eyes blearily. “Oh shit,” he says.

 

“ _Oh shit_ indeed,” Emma replies. “You have five minutes.”

 

Nick groans and rolls over. “Hey, sheriff,” he mumbles. “Like the dress.”

 

Henry reaches out to smack him over the head. “That’s my mom, you perve,” he says and Nick cackles.

 

Emma leaves and, in no mood for conversation, she waits outside, tapping her foot and watching her phone as the minutes tick by. It is post-storm weather, calm but cool and her legs start to go numb, uncovered as they are. Exactly four and a half minutes later, Henry thumps down the porch steps, pulling his hoodie on and yawning. “Hey, Ma,” he says, attempting an ingratiating smile.

 

“Keys,” Emma says, frowning and holding out her hand.

 

Henry digs into his jeans pockets and hands her three sets of car keys. “Sorry,” he says, staring at his shoes.

 

“Start walking,” Emma says. They travel in silence for a brief spell and then Emma starts. “You went too far with that one, kid.”

 

“I know,” Henry says.

 

“Do you really?” she asks. “Or do you just know that’s the right thing to say? Leaving aside the fact that we might have actually needed transport for an emergency, you can’t force people to be together.”

 

“But you love her,” Henry says. He’s pouting and he looks so unbelievably young, exactly how Emma remembers him when he first turned up at her door.

 

“I don’t,” Emma says because love is a big word and not one Emma throws around lightly and she hasn’t been given the space to sort out her feelings for Regina. “I trusted you with the knowledge that I have feelings for your mom but you need to trust me when I say that she is _not_ there with me. She loves Robin.”

 

“She does love you,” Henry argues. “She just doesn’t realise she does.”

 

“Then you need to let her come to that realisation herself,” Emma says. “Last night was cruel. Your mom had to deal with the man she loves sleeping in the room next door with his wife and sharing a bed with the woman who ruined it all for her. Can you imagine how hard that was for her?”

 

Henry grimaces. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

 

“Good,” Emma says, reaching over to throw an arm around his neck and pull him close to her, ruffling his hair with her other hand. “Because it’s still your mom’s week with you and she’s in charge of your punishment.” Henry groans. Regina’s the disciplinarian of the pair of them, always has been, Emma being far too susceptible to Henry’s big eyes and quivering lower lip.

 

She sends him inside with both sets of Regina’s car keys and texts Regina. _Just dropped off Henry. Give consequences as you see fit and I’ll follow through._ She types ‘thanks for last night’ but deletes it, considers several other messages, considers knocking on the damn door and throwing caution to the wind.

 

A text comes through when Emma has just pulled up outside her apartment. _You left your pyjamas on the floor of my room. I’m not a maid service._

 

 _Sorry,_ Emma replies.

 

 _No screens for a fortnight_ , is Regina’s response. Emma assumes it is Henry’s punishment (though it could just as easily be her own). It’s a good one. He’s currently addicted to Call of Duty and two weeks without it should teach him something about pain and suffering.

 

She leaps into the shower, not allowing herself time to linger, just scrubbing the sweat and grime from her body and washing her hair. After her shower, two cups of strong coffee and muesli she feels more human, ready to face Saturday.

 

She can’t allow herself to pause because if she lets herself, she’ll spend all of Saturday brooding. Looking around the apartment she imagines what Regina would have to say about it and is disgusted at the state of it, the Ikea furniture still stacked in cardboard boxes around the room. She finds a screwdriver in one of the kitchen drawers. Today, she’s going to build bookshelves.

 

There’s something quite satisfying about building furniture and Emma is almost embarrassed at the pride she feels when the first of three little bookshelves is standing upright. She starts on the second. Unfortunately, when she doesn’t have to pay such close attention to instructions her mind wanders. She wonders how Regina’s morning was with Robin and Marian. She wonders how she explained away Emma’s absence. She wonders if Regina knows that they slept entwined.

 

The feelings brewing away inside her are intensifying day by day and she’s angry because Regina still loves Robin and it’s her fault that Regina doesn’t have Robin but it’s painful, this pretence. It’s making Emma feel things that could have continued to bubble under the surface, untouched, for years.

 

She wants to touch Regina, to feel her arch against her, to hear her moans and sighs for real, to breach that infinitesimal space and let their lips meet. But more than that, she wants to be there when she wakes up and make her coffee and fight about stupid shit and hold her tight when crap gets her down.

 

“Shit.” She’s put in a shelf upside down, the plywood clearly visible. Sighing, she undoes the screws and starts again. No more daydreaming.

 

Three bookshelves and a coffee table later, Emma’s ready for food. There’s nothing in the house because when Henry is at Regina’s Emma forgets to grocery shop, relying on Granny’s and dinner at her parents’. She grabs her coat and wanders down to Granny’s.

 

The diner’s crowded and, scanning the throng, Emma notices Robin there, with Roland and Marian. Emma’s heart lightens to see that Roland is quiet and attentive, a small smile threatening to bloom across his face, as Marian speaks to him. The look on Marian’s face speaks volumes; she’s reverent, eyes wide, movements careful, as though any wrong move will upset this perfect balance. Emma sits at the counter, waving Ruby down. “French toast, please.”

 

“And hot chocolate?” Ruby asks. “By the way, don’t think I didn’t see you driving home in your ‘hook up’ dress.” Ruby found the red dress in her wardrobe when they had their ‘thing’ (for want of a better word) and had tried to persuade Emma to wear it to the Rabbit Hole one night.

 

“Yes to hot chocolate,” Emma says. “Can we maybe talk about the other shit later?”

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” she says and takes Emma’s order to Granny in the kitchen.

 

Someone slides into the seat beside Emma. She looks around and sees Robin. “Hey,” she says, shredding a napkin.

 

“Hello,” Robin says. There’s something tentative in the tone of his voice that Emma’s never heard before.

 

“You got home okay?” Emma says, attempting politeness. “I had to get Henry.”

 

“I was wrong about you,” Robin says abruptly. “I thought you were flaky, that you’d just hurt her more. But she’s happy, really, truly happy, when she’s around you.”

 

“We want the same thing,” Emma says to him. “Regina’s happiness.” He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, and in that moment she doesn’t dislike him quite so much.

 

“Daddy?” Robin and Emma look down. Roland is tugging on Robin’s trouser leg. “Can we go see the puppies?”

 

“Certainly,” Robin says. “Good to see you, Sheriff.”

 

Emma looks around when he leaves and sees Marian, still sitting in the diner, reading the paper, dark hair braided back from her face. She slips off the stool and moves over to Marian’s booth. “Hey. You’re not going to the animal shelter?”

 

Marian smiles. “This works better if Roland gets time alone with Robin.”

 

“It looks like you’re making progress,” Emma says.

 

“Regina gave me some suggestions,” she replies, to Emma’s astonishment. “This morning, before we left.”

 

“I’m glad,” Emma says. Why had Regina done that? Briefly, she considers that if Regina’s willing to help Marian, it means she’s letting go of Robin, which means that soon Emma won’t be necessary. This can only be a good thing for both of them but the potential loss of even a fake relationship with Regina makes Emma’s heart ache. Ruby brings her French toast and hot chocolate over and she digs in.

 

“I need to look for work anyway,” Marian says, gesturing at the ‘help wanted’ ads in the paper. “Robin’s got the archery school he’s setting up but I can’t play ‘little wife at home’. That’s never been my style.”

 

Emma thinks for a moment. “You wouldn’t want to work in law enforcement?” she asks. “Only, with the expansion of the town since the second curse I’ve got some money in the budget for another deputy. I’ve been meaning to advertise.”

 

Marian grins, teeth straight and white. “I think I would like that.”

 

“Come by the station on Monday,” she says. “We’ll talk.”

 

Having sated her hunger, Emma walks over to visit Snow and her baby brother. David’s working and Snow is lying on the couch, Neal clutched to her chest, and she’s reading him _Pride and Prejudice_ in a soft, lilting voice. “There’s only so much you can say to a baby,” she says when Emma raises her eyebrows, “and I really want to get through my yearly Austen re-read.”

 

Emma laughs. “I’m sure it’s good for him.” She holds out her hands and Snow passes Neal over. She’s still reluctant ceding control over the baby, even with Emma and David, and has admitted that she’s still afraid she’ll lose him. She’d cried about it to Emma over the phone one night after only brief pockets of sleep across several days. “Hey, little brother,” Emma murmurs, cuddling him close to her. “Long time no see.” His clean baby smell is intoxicating and he smiles up at her and Emma, as she always is, is reminded of Henry, the baby that she simultaneously did and did not hold like this.

 

Neal gurgles at her, spit bubbles forming on his lips. “He loves his big sister,” Snow says, smiling fondly.

 

“She loves him too,” Emma says. There’s still a residual discomfort around Neal, feelings of inadequacy, of not being enough for Snow and David, even though Snow has made them talk about it at length in an effort to reassure Emma – discussions that made both Emma and David intensely uncomfortable because they’re neither of them great at difficult conversations.

 

“How’s Regina?” Snow asks, getting up for a glass of water.

 

Emma grimaces. “I just… She misses Robin.”

 

“You know,” Snow says. “We spent a lot of time in the Enchanted Forest together. Regina spoke about you a great deal.”

 

“Fretting about what a poor parent I was being to Henry? I bet she’s letting him eat candy. She’s probably set her apartment on fire. She’ll let him get a piercing and a tattoo.” She mimics Regina’s husky voice.

 

Snow laughs. “No. Well, sometimes.” She touches Emma’s shoulder. “She cares for you. I really am happy you’re finding joy together.”

 

And Emma feels so horribly, terribly guilty. Snow is so pleased, so supportive, and it’s all a horrific lie. If she wasn’t pretending to be with Regina, she could ask Snow for advice. She hands Neal back to Snow shortly after this because he is asleep, snuffling into her shoulder and leaving a damp patch on her sweater, and Snow looks ready to collapse mid-sentence.

 

She returns home and contemplates the shoe rack she bought off EBay for ten bucks. The stupid, cheap plastic contraption won’t fit together properly and she’s an inch away from kicking it when there’s a knock at the door.

 

“Hold up,” she yells, shunting the rack to one side and heading to the door. She opens it and finds Regina on her doorstep, impeccably attired and lips pressed together in a tight line.

 

“Hey,” Emma says, freezing.

 

“Hey,” Regina replies, hands in red leather gloves twisting nervously. “May I come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing comments. I'm loving them. Apologies about all the cliffhangers (not really because I'm a bit evil and I enjoy the cursing).
> 
> I hope you like this chapter - I found it difficult to write - but next chapter is shaping up to be fun.


	8. In which misunderstandings ensue

Emma nods, standing aside and letting Regina enter her apartment, heels clipping against the wooden floors. She hasn’t seen the place before and Emma watches her anxiously, looking for a curl of her lip or narrowed eyes at some possible danger to Henry or inadequacy in interior design that she has missed.

 

“This place,” Regina says, removing her gloves and flexing her fingers. She places the gloves on the coffee table and casts an appraising look around the room again. “It’s not as bad as I was expecting.”

 

“Thanks, I think,” Emma says, attempting to discreetly push the terrible shoe rack behind an armchair with her foot. “How’s Henry?”

 

“Sulking,” Regina says. “When I left, he was reading ‘Harry Potter’ and making pointed comments in my general direction about idiot mothers who can’t take advantage of an innocent little prank.” She raises an eyebrow. She’s wearing this black leather coat that she seems to have become attached to since Emma’s return from New York and she looks inexpressibly sexy. “Want to tell me what that’s about?”

 

“Not really,” Emma says. She’ll be having a stern word with Henry on Monday after school about how keeping secrets means not talking about them in front of the person the secret refers to. “Drink?” Emma asks, more for something to do with her hands than anything else.

 

“No,” Regina says.

 

“What do you want, Regina?” Emma asks, going to the fridge, grabbing herself a beer and flicking off the cap on the side of the kitchen bench. She’s tired and hurting and Regina being here and being something akin to friendly isn’t helping her to hold it all in.

 

“Why did you leave this morning?”

 

“To get Henry,” Emma says, the lie automatic as cinnamon on her hot chocolate. She swigs from the bottle.

 

“Liar.” Regina’s lips curve into a piercing smile.

 

“Did it ruin the whole ‘fake relationship’ thing?” Emma asks. She can’t help the snarl in her voice.

 

“No,” Regina says. “Henry’s sullen attitude helped keep the focus off why my girlfriend would sneak out of my bed at six in the morning.” There’s a hint of impatience in her voice.

 

“Then stop pushing me.” She leans against the bench, taking long draws of the beer, the cool liquid refreshing.

 

“Emma, we’re supposed to be in a relationship. You need to tell me the truth.”

 

“No, I don’t,” Emma says, pushing away from the bench, leaving the beer behind and moving forward, crowding Regina. “Because we’re not in a relationship.”

 

“Don’t push me, Ms Swan,” Regina says, the predatory look back in her eyes.

 

And Emma has had enough. She takes in a deep breath, steels herself and says, “I think you know why I left.”

 

Regina steps closer, so close that Emma can see flecks of amber in her brown eyes and the thin, cobweb-like lines beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. “I think perhaps I do.”

 

And there’s that gap again, that small space separating them. Emma can feel Regina’s breath on her face. This time Emma doesn’t resist, doesn’t hold back. She closes the gap, lips pressing against Regina’s. For a moment time seems to still and all Emma can feel is the soft trace of Regina’s lips against hers and she panics because what if she’s wrong?

 

But then Regina’s hand cups the back of her head, pulling her closer, and her tongue flickering into Emma’s mouth. Emma can smell her perfume, the apple scent that she’s long since come to associate with Regina, and moves her hands to cup Regina’s face, thumbs stroking the smooth skin of her cheeks.

 

Emma was fifteen when she had her first kiss. The girl’s name was Julia. It was at a party and she’d tasted of wine coolers and strawberry lip balm and Emma had felt this total heart-pounding, exhilarating thrill as their lips mashed together. She’s never felt that same rush since. Not with Neal, not with Graham, not with Killian. Not until now.

 

“You’re really great,” she murmurs.

 

Regina grins. “Less talking, more kissing.” And Emma has no choice but to comply.

 

Regina manoeuvres them towards the couch and pushes Emma backwards; she falls onto the couch with an undignified “oof” noise and Regina laughs, the vibrations setting Emma’s mouth on fire. Her legs curve around Emma, straddling her thighs. Their bodies press against each other. Regina pushes into the kiss, taking the lead so absolutely Emma doesn’t even think to push back. Instead her hands drift from her face to her back, clutching at the fabric of her jacket, the leather slippery under her fingers. She drags the coat off, even though it means Regina’s hands leave her hair for a moment. Her own hands tangle in Regina’s scarf, using it to pull her closer, the kisses now bruising. Her lips feel swollen.

 

Regina still has one hand in her hair but the other has worked its way under Emma’s shirt, fingers dancing across the edges of Emma’s bra, fiddling with the cotton. Every touch is electric; Emma’s body feels over-heated and when Regina’s hand brushes her nipple over the cotton, Emma moans into her mouth and scrapes her fingers along Regina’s back, rucking up the silk shirt and feeling the velvety soft skin, tracing the nubs of her spine.

 

Regina takes the moans as a sign to continue with her ministrations, cupping and kneading at Emma’s breasts until she’s gasping and has to break apart from kissing to breathe. Regina growls at this, the sound low in her throat and her hands dip lower, skirting the waistband of her jeans. Her fingers flick the button open and Emma wonders if this is a particularly cruel dream from her sub-conscious.

 

She grabs Regina’s hand, drawing it back up, and they break apart. Emma can feel her chest heave, her breath stuttering. “Wow,” she exhales.

 

“Articulate as always, Ms Swan,” Regina says, smirking, though the effect is ruined somewhat by her smeared lipstick. “I believe we were in the midst of something.”

 

“Can we talk about this before we go any further?” Emma asks.

 

“Does it need discussion?” Regina asks, pressing a kiss onto Emma’s neck, sucking on her pulse point so that Emma whines and arches forward. “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, if you’ll pardon the uncouth metaphor.”

 

“That’s what you think this is about?” Emma asks.

 

“Oh come on, Ms Swan,” Regina says, rolling her eyes. “You’re attracted to me. No shame in that; many people are. You obviously haven’t slept with anyone in a long time, if waking up with a body wrapped around you is enough to spook you. You’ve been useful to me these past weeks so let me return the favour.”

 

Emma’s mouth feels dry and she folds her arms protectively in front of her chest. “Sex isn’t a bargaining chip.”

 

“And why not?” Regina asks, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

 

“Because I have feelings for you,” Emma says, almost shouting. She can feel tears forming in her eyes and it’s so goddamn embarrassing.

 

Regina’s eyes widen and her lips turn down at the corners. She looks as if Emma has punched her in the gut, the expression not dissimilar to when she realised Emma brought Marian back from the past with her. “I don’t–I can’t.”

 

“I know,” Emma says, her voice dull. “You love Robin.”

 

“Yes,” Regina says, looking around wildly. It’s a lie, Emma knows it, but it’s not exactly an indicator of affection for Emma either.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Emma says. She’s frowning, the weariness that had dissipated with the kissing now back, weighing down on her shoulders.

 

“No,” Regina says quickly. “Don’t apologise.” She seems to suddenly realise that she’s still straddling Emma and leaps up, pulling down her shirt and tucking it back into her trousers. “I have to go. Henry. He might… break into the safe, reclaim his iPhone.” She snatches up her coat and gloves and runs out, hair a ruffled mess and lipstick still smeared around her mouth.

 

Emma falls back against the couch, closing her eyes. Her phone buzzes. It’s Ruby. _Have wine. Coming around at 7. Hide your porn._ She’s not sure if she can cope with Ruby; sometimes she can’t handle her when she’s at her best because Emma is essentially a total misanthrope, content to spend as much time as possible alone, and Ruby’s an extrovert and a people pleaser.

 

Groaning, she pushes herself off the couch and grabs all the bottles of beer left in the fridge, lining them up along the coffee table, and finds the secret bag of corn chips hidden in the cupboard above the microwave. Then, she returns to the couch, cracks open the bag of chips and uncaps a beer, her first one now warm and flat.

 

Four beers later and Emma’s able to think without Regina popping into her brain. “Come in,” she yells, when Ruby knocks. Ruby enters, brandishing a bottle of wine in each hand. “Already started,” Emma says, toasting Ruby with a beer, liquid slopping from the narrow opening. Ruby grins, grabs two wine glasses from the cupboard and pours herself a liberal helping of red wine.

 

Emma makes grabby hands at the bottle. “Honey, you have beer,” Ruby says, though she pours a glass for her anyway.

 

“But you brought wine and this is _definitely_ a wine night,” Emma says, dragging herself upright on the couch.

 

Ruby collapses onto the couch next to her, resting her head against Emma’s shoulder. And there they remain until the first bottle of wine is finished. Ruby’s pleasantly buzzed and Emma has moved on to impressions. After a particularly clumsy impression of Snow back when she was Mary Margaret, Ruby sits up, twisting around to stare intently at Emma. “Okay,” she says. “Don’t get me wrong because I _love_ this but are you all right?”

 

“Regina,” Emma slurs. “She just wanted sex.”

 

Ruby shakes her head, dark locks falling across her face. Emma misses the streaks of red that used to emblazon her hair. “No she didn’t.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma says glumly and drains her glass. “Because even though we were only pretending to be together, I really wanted to be for real.”

 

“Wait, hold up,” Ruby says, barely avoiding spilling red wine across the floor. “Pretending?”

 

“Yeah,” Emma says in a voice that suggests that obviously Ruby should know this. Then, it hits her. _Secret_ fake relationship. How many betrayals of Regina’s trust does that make now? “Oh shit, no one’s allowed to know.”

 

“I won’t tell,” Ruby says, holding out her pinky finger and giggling when Emma links her own to it and shakes. “Why were you pretending?”

 

“Because there was a dinner,” Emma says. “And Robin was there and Regina was there too and she made me pretend to be her girlfriend so Robin wouldn’t know she was alone.”

 

“Oh man,” Ruby says, nuzzling Emma’s shoulder. “That’s fucked up.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma mumbles. “And I really like her and she doesn’t like me, except for maybe my boobs.”

 

“You know,” Ruby says thoughtfully, “I’ve seen a bit of Regina over the past couple of weeks because she comes into the diner a lot and every time I have, she looks happier and happier and the only thing that’s different is you.”

 

“No,” Emma says, shaking her head. “She loves Robin. Or she did. I don’t know”

 

“Maybe she loves Robin,” Ruby says. “She totally loved you first though.”

 

“What?”

 

“All those heated glances when you first came to town, the domineering body language, that day at the mines when she almost kissed you,” Ruby says. Emma remembers the mines differently, the panic that welled up inside her, the desperation in Regina’s eyes, that brief moment of shared relief when Henry was rescued. She remembers Ruby sitting on the rubble, looking after Pongo; she must have misinterpreted something because Regina definitely didn’t almost kiss her. “God, I used to be so jealous,” Ruby adds, opening the second bottle of wine.

 

“No,” Emma says. “She hated me.”

 

“It’s a fine line,” Ruby says and perhaps it’s because Emma’s one drink away from sleep but this sounds really profound. Ruby finds the television remote, switches it on and puts on the Food Network. Emma rests her head on Ruby’s lap and slowly but surely fades out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I said fun last note... Sorry!
> 
> Thoughts? Comments? Thank you so much for the amazing support of this story. I'm enjoying attempting to write to canon.


	9. In which Emma hires a new deputy

 

It’s Monday and Emma’s sitting at her desk in the sheriff’s office, coffee mug warming up one hand and pen in the other as she signs off on David’s reports from the past week. She’s bundled up in a giant woollen sweater of Snow’s because the heating needs to be fixed and winter had come earlier to their little corner of Maine than they’d all anticipated so maintenance has a backlog of heating checks to get through.

 

She’d woken up on Sunday morning on the couch, basically on top of Ruby as she snored, the rumblings coming from deep in her chest making Emma’s head bob and fall. The television had still been blaring – infomercials – and, groaning, Emma had pushed straggly hair out of her eyes and stretched for the remote to turn it off. She’d stretched a little too far, unfortunately, and had fallen off the couch.

 

“Fuck,” she’d yelled and Ruby had woken with a start, taken one look at Emma, ungainly on the floor and clutching her side, and had started laughing hysterically, which, of course, had exacerbated Emma’s hangover.

 

“Hey, Em.” Ruby’s standing in the doorway to the sheriff’s department and Emma can practically smell the sugar and grease of what she hopes is a bear claw in the paper bag, brown paper translucent with the oil.

 

“Gimme,” she says, gesturing with her free hand, eyes returning the files and scrawling a messy signature across the bottom of a report about public intoxication and disturbing the peace – Leroy, of course.

 

“Please?” Ruby suggests, raising an eyebrow so high that it disappears under her jaunty beret.

 

“Pretty sure I still have a bruise on my butt and _someone_ was too busy laughing to help me off the floor,” Emma says in response and gestures again for the paper bag in Ruby’s hand. Reluctantly, Ruby cedes it, settling into the chair across from Emma.

 

“You’re rude,” Ruby says.

 

“You knew that when you befriended me,” Emma replies, clasping the sugary pastry between two fingers, feeling the grit of sugar on her fingertips. She takes a bite and moans, “so good,” around the large bite of pastry.

 

“Sharing is caring,” Ruby says. Emma holds out the claw to Ruby, who leans across the desk and takes a large bite.

 

A pointed cough sounds from the doorway. “Regina!” Ruby says, grinning through a mouthful of pastry and straightening up. “How’s it going?”

 

“Miss Lucas,” Regina says stiffly. “Might I have a word with Ms Swan alone?”

 

“Have to get back to the diner anyway. See you later, Emma.” She touches Emma’s shoulder as she leaves, hand lingering, and Emma, who can’t take her eyes off Regina, sees her bristle, jaw tightening and lips thinning.

 

Emma places the bear claw on the paper bag and wipes her hands on her jeans. “What?” she asks because she isn’t really ready to talk to Regina, not after Saturday. “Did Henry leave something at your house?”

 

“I wish to discuss our arrangement,” Regina says. She remains standing and Emma fights the urge to stand herself. She knows that the attempt at a show of dominance would come off as weak, particularly since Regina’s wearing heels and a figure-hugging navy dress that must be worth more than Emma’s entire wardrobe, whereas Emma’s wearing an alarmingly purple, fluffy sweater and flat-soled boots.

 

“Shoot,” Emma says, sticking the signed forms into the filing cabinet in order to appear busy.

 

Regina shifts from one high heeled foot to the other. “I think it would be best if we cool off on our relationship.”

 

“Since we were never actually in a relationship you’re probably right,” Emma says. She tries to play it off as nonchalant but she can’t help the frown that spreads across her features or the pricking at her eyes. “Is this us ‘breaking up’?”

 

“I don’t know,” Regina says, frowning. Her arms are crossed and one hand reaches to pinch her chin and mouth, a nervous gesture. “I’ve never broken up with someone before, not in any ordinary sense.” Sometimes Emma forgets Regina’s chequered past. When your first boyfriend’s killed by your mother, your husband’s killing is orchestrated by yourself and your soul mate’s wife is returned from the dead via time travel, Emma supposes you don’t get around to regular relationship milestones.

 

“Because this is a super normal situation,” she says, rolling her eyes.

 

“Perhaps, we just stop pretending,” Regina suggests.

 

“I haven’t been,” Emma says, shrugging. “Not to you anyway.”

 

“I know,” Regina replies and her cheeks dapple scarlet. “And that’s why we need to cool off. I can’t–“

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma says, rolling her eyes. “You love Robin. You know, it gets less convincing every time you say it.”

 

“Oh, just shut up,” Regina says, diction crisp and enraged. “Don’t act like you’re so superior. For someone who proclaimed to have feelings for me you moved on quickly enough.”

 

“What? Ruby?” Emma laughs, though the sound is mirthless. “Are you jealous?”

 

“Certainly not,” Regina snaps though pink blotches appear on her cheeks once again.

 

“Look,” Emma says, holding up her hands in an attempt to placate her. “I’d like us to be friends. Like we were starting to become before.”

 

“Were we?”

 

“Yes,” Emma says. “Friends. For Henry’s sake, if nothing else.” She wants to ask if there’s anything else, if Henry’s the only thing that ties the two of them together, but she’s not sure she wants to hear Regina’s answer.

 

There’s a knock at the open door to the sheriff’s department and Marian pokes her head around the corner. “Is this a good time?” she asks.

 

“Marian, hey,” Emma says, schooling her expression into a smile. “Come in. Grab a pew.” Marian looks puzzled and Emma gestures at the chair on which Regina has not deigned to sit.

 

Regina sweeps out without looking back. “Is everything all right?” Marian asks. She’s tied her dark curls back in a severe bun and has upgraded from her long skirts to a pair of loose dress slacks and shirt. It’s a style that suits her and reminds Emma strikingly of Regina.

 

“Not really,” Emma says. “You’re here about the job though.”

 

They chat about the role of the sheriff’s department and what being a deputy entails. It’s hard to come up with criteria for the job when all possible applicants will be fairy tale characters. Emma’s all too aware that she’d never be able to be a sheriff anywhere else in America. “I was just as much a part of Robin’s deeds in the Enchanted Forest,” Marian says. “I have good instincts and I learn quickly.”

 

“Any examples?” Emma asks, attempting some semblance of professionalism though feeling hideously out of her depth. David just sort of _became_ a deputy; she never interviewed or anything.

 

“Picked up shooting a bow and arrow quicker than anyone else in the Merry Men,” she says, with a hint of pride in her voice and Emma nods, impressed.

 

Then, Marian leans across, touches Emma’s arm and says, “I couldn’t help but overhear…”

 

“That we’re taking a break?”

 

“Yes,” Marian says. Her hand is still on Emma’s arm and she fights the urge to shrug it off. There’s been too much touching of Emma today and not from the one person she wants touching her. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” Emma says. “I mean, she’s not…” She stops because talking about Regina’s feelings for Robin with Robin’s freshly un-deceased wife is probably not the smartest idea she’s ever had.

 

“It’s because of Robin, isn’t it?” Marian says, frowning.

 

“I shouldn’t really talk to you about this,” Emma says, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

 

“You know, I was really selfishly glad when I heard you and Regina were a couple,” Marian says. “Roland loves her. Robin… I don’t know. I _do_ know that he loves me.”

 

“Regina’s not going to try and steal him from you,” Emma says. She winces at her own phrasing. She’s never liked this competition that exists between women over men, even felt uncomfortable about it when it was her and Regina briefly engaged in hostilities over Graham. “She’s not like that.”

 

“I’m not worried about that,” Marian says. “I mean, I was, but then she helped me with Roland and that’s not the action of a woman who wants me out of the picture. At least, I hope not.” She giggles nervously.

 

Emma smiles. “You’re safe, I promise. Now, let’s get back on track. I can give you a three month trial if you’d like.”

 

“I’d love that,” Marian says. “When can I start?”

 

“Tomorrow work for you?” Emma suggests. “I’m on days.” She’s managed to wrangle it so that she does night shifts in her Henry-free weeks.

 

Marian grins. “See you bright and early,” she says. “I better go find Robin. He’s scouting locations for his school.” Emma stands to see her out.

 

David passes Marian leaving. “What was that about?” he asks.

 

“New deputy,” Emma says. “Spread those night shifts around a bit more hopefully.”

 

“Excellent.” David pours himself a coffee and takes a seat at Emma’s desk. “Now, how are you?”

 

They’ve successfully managed _not_ to talk about Emma’s relationship with Regina and she sees that now, as it is ending, it’s time for a father-daughter chat. “I’m fine. Really.”

 

“Just fine?” David asks. “Henry tells us that you and Regina are totally lovey-dovey.”

 

What the hell is Henry playing at? “Henry’s never seen us together. And I _don’t_ want to talk about it,” Emma grunts.

 

“Okay,” David says peaceably, stealing the last of Emma’s bear claw. The perils of working with one’s father. “Just want you to be happy.”

 

“Why the hell does everyone keep saying that? Oh, Emma, your happiness is the most important thing to me. Oh, Emma, she hasn’t looked so happy in a long time. What’s with everyone’s obsession with happiness?” Her voice rises, snapping, and it cracks on the final ‘happiness’.

 

David stares at her for a moment. Then he says, “go on patrol,” and throws her jacket at her. “You definitely need air. We’ll talk when you get back.”

 

She grabs the keys from the top drawer of her desk, hot tears stinging in her eyes. Once in the patrol car, blissfully quiet but for the static of her communicator, she’s able to breathe again. She wipes her eyes on her sweater, the wool tickling her nose, and pulls out onto the road.

 

The loop’s a familiar one, down Main Street, right at the animal shelter, through the major suburban streets, and over the potholes of the side roads, car complaining all the while. It’s when she drives by the pier that she sees them, Robin and Regina sitting close on a bench together, shoulders touching. She slows, desperate to know what’s going on.

 

And then Regina turns and sees the patrol car and her face is such a curious mixture of elation and horror and Emma wants to cry again but she strains, holding in her breath, and manages to stem the tide of tears threatening to overwhelm her and drown her in their wake. Somehow she manages to continue driving and then her phone rings. She pulls over and sees that it’s Regina.

 

“What?” she barks.

 

“Emma, it’s not what you think,” Regina says.

 

“I told her, I told Marian that you wouldn’t steal him. I said she could trust you. _I_ trusted you.”

 

“It’s not like that,” Regina says. She sounds desperate and if Emma was thinking clearly, she might consider listening to Regina but the image of Regina and Robin together is seared into her brain and now she’s imagining them kissing, imagining Regina’s soft lips and skin brushing against Robin’s stubble, and she feels sick and she _can’t_ be rational.

 

“Oh sure. You usually have secret meetings on benches with your ex-lover who’s supposed to be finding locations for his archery school.”

 

“Give me a chance to explain.” She sounds defeated.

 

“Save it,” Emma says, snarling. “I’m working.” She hangs up, throwing her phone across the car. She turns the key in the ignition, indicates and pulls out.

 

It’s a cold day but she’s not expecting the sudden patch of ice on the road or for the patrol car to skid wildly and plant itself into the nearest tree.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be overwhelmed at the ludicrously wonderful response to this. Thank you so much.


	10. In which Emma sleeps a great deal

Emma blinks and lifts her head from the steering wheel. She touches the side of her face, feels the sticky texture of blood and sees her fingers come away red. She’s wedged into her seat. “Never should’ve thrown my cell phone,” she mutters groggily. She unbuckles her seatbelt, tries to reach across and feels faint, head spinning.

 

She can’t reach her phone. Fuck.

 

Her head whirls and aches and she lets it fall against her shoulder, slumping over. The energy taken to stretch has exacerbated the sharp pain shooting up her leg and across her ribs and she just manages to hold back vomit. Everything goes dark.

 

“Emma!” She can hear knocking, scraping, at the door. Her eyes open into slits and she can see two blurry figures, coming gradually into focus. Robin and Marian.

 

Her arm feels floppy and loose, like she’s drunk, but she manages to unlock the car door after a few tries. Robin opens the door. “Emma, what happened?”

 

“Dunno,” she slurs. “Ice. Tree?”

 

“Marian’s calling for an ambulance,” he says. She can vaguely make out Marian a few steps away, phone to her ear and pacing. “Do you want me to help you out of the vehicle?”

 

“No,” Emma says. “Bad idea.” She vaguely recalls first aid training about not moving people until you can ascertain the injuries. She’s pretty sure she’s broken her leg at least.

 

“Okay,” he says and he sounds as if he’s making a genuine effort to remain calm. “Keep talking. Tell me something. Insult my hair. Anything.”

 

“Tired,” she mumbles.

 

“I may not know much about medicine,” Robin says. “But I do know that you should not fall unconscious after you’ve hit your head.”

 

Marian strides across to them, all stern professionalism in her interview outfit. “An ambulance is on its way. I left a message with her parents and Regina.”

 

“No,” Emma says, squinting. “Not Regina. She won’t come.” They’d fought, the details are a little hazy but she knows enough to know that Regina won’t come for her.

 

There’s a swirl of purple smoke and Regina appears. “What the hell were you thinking, Ms Swan?” she hisses, pushing Robin aside.

 

Emma wants to say something snarky about this _so_ being her choice but instead the shock catches up with her and she bursts into tears, deep, gulping sobs that hurt her chest in a way that makes her think she might have cracked a rib or two. Regina just stands there, hands clenched into fists so tightly that the skin of her knuckles is white and bloodless. “Stop that at once.”

 

“I can’t,” she says, shoulders shaking with the effort she’s expending to stem the flow of tears. “I’m so tired.” She feels herself fading out of consciousness as the siren of the ambulance sounds in the distance.

 

She wakes again in the hospital, woozy and alone. A nurse enters. “You’re awake,” she says and Emma bites back the sarcasm because she’s still very tired.

 

“Yeah,” she says. Her mouth feels fuzzy and her head aches. “’m awake.” She works her jaw, which feels bruised and swollen and reaches a hand up to her head, finding bandages strapped across her forehead. “Can I see my family?” The nurse nods and opens the door to her room.

 

Henry bursts through the doors, barely missing knocking the nurse over, and buries his head in her stomach. “Ma,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

 

“Course I am, kid,” Emma says. Then she looks down the bed and sees her leg encased in a cast. “Fuck,” she mutters and the nurse glares at her. It reminds her of Regina, berating her for swearing in front of Henry, and Emma’s heart flips.

 

“You broke your leg in three places and cracked several ribs,” she informs her. “You also have stitches on the right side of your head, some bruising and a concussion.”

 

“The patrol car is a wreck,” Henry says. He seems reluctant to leave her side, her hand clasped in his.

 

“Hey, it’s all right,” Emma says, though she finds she doesn’t have the energy to reach out and comfort him. “I’m okay.”

 

“Mom said you would be,” Henry says. “But she had that pinched look in her face and her eyes were all stony and I’m pretty sure that means she’s lying.”

 

“Your mom was here?” Emma asks.

 

“Yeah,” Henry says. “Didn’t leave your side.” He grins slyly.

 

“Shut up,” Emma says. “She’s not here now.”

 

Henry shrugs. “She said she had stuff to do but I think she’s just nervous around you.”

 

David pokes his head around the corner. “Are you up for visitors?” Emma nods and winces at the movement. David and Snow enter the hospital room, Neal being held by Snow. She’s been crying; Emma can just make out the tear tracks sticky down her cheeks.

 

“Oh, Emma,” Snow says tearfully, passing baby Neal over to David and settling into the chair beside her. She strokes Emma’s hair away from her forehead.

 

“I’m fine,” Emma says gruffly. “Just sleepy.”

 

Dr Whale insists on keeping her in overnight for observation. Snow receives a text message, leaves for a moment and returns with a large polystyrene container of piping hot lasagne. “Dinner,” she says, giving the container and a plastic fork to Emma. “From Granny’s.” She avoids eye contact with Emma.

 

Emma takes a bite, tastes the kick of red pepper. “This isn’t Granny’s lasagne,” she says, tone accusatory.

 

“Fine,” Snow says, sighing. “It’s from Regina. She muttered something about substandard hospital dinners and told me not to say it was from her, which is just ridiculous.”

 

“It’s good,” Emma murmurs, though a sharp pain that has nothing to do with her injuries shoots through her body.

 

“You’re both idiots,” Snow says and Henry nods. “Two minutes into ‘taking a break’ and you’re almost dead and Regina’s reverted back to Madame Mayor.”

 

“Total idiots,” Henry says and grabs a hunk of the top layer of lasagne between his fingers and shoves it in his mouth before Emma can react.

 

After dinner, Emma drifts off, her family surrounding her. She sleeps deeply though wakes late at night, the only sound machines beeping and her own breath. She thinks she might see a flash of purple from the corner of her eye, as if someone is using magic to disappear but she’s too tired to turn her head to check it out. Instead, she drifts back to sleep and if her dreams are of Regina then she can’t remember in the morning, only flashes of dark eyes and red lips and warmth spreading through her body, despite the draughty hospital wing.

 

She’s sitting up and eating Jello for breakfast (she bribed the nurse – whose name is Madeleine and apparently likes hazelnut praline) when Marian and Robin visit early in the morning, Roland between them. He has a hand in each of theirs and gives Emma a posy of wildflowers. He really is an unbearably adorable child.

 

“Thank you,” Emma says to Roland, who smiles, all dimples and big brown eyes.

 

“Marian, would you mind if I had a word alone with Emma?” Robin asks and Marian nods, unsurprised.

 

“Roland,” Marian says, holding out a hand. “Let’s go and see if there are any books in the waiting room. Roland wraps his hand into hers and lets himself be led from the room.

 

“I wish you to know,” Robin says stiffly, “that there is nothing going on between Regina and myself.”

 

“What was with the lying yesterday?” Emma asks.

 

“I _was_ looking at locations. In fact, that’s where Marian and I were headed when we found your car. It’s just, Regina called. She sounded upset and asked to meet.”

 

“Oh.” Emma’s working out the timeline and realises it would have been directly after her conversation with Emma in the sheriff’s station.

 

“We may not ever be lovers,” Robin says, “but we do have a great deal linking us together. I want us to be friends.”

 

“What were you talking about?” Emma asks.

 

Robin gives her a long look, eyes narrowed. “You,” he says.

 

Emma’s heart thumps wildly. “Why?”

 

“I will not betray her confidence,” he says. “You’ll have to talk to her.”

 

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me,” Emma mutters. She behaved like the idiot Regina believes her to be on the phone. She should have listened, let her explain, but she was too worked up, too convinced that at the slightest provocation Regina would betray herself and go after Robin Hood.

 

“And what gave you that idea?” Robin asks.

 

“Do you see her here?” Emma replies, shrugging. The gesture is painful in more ways than one.

 

“No,” Robin says. “But I saw her call you to try and explain the second she saw the squad car. I saw her face when she arrived at the accident. I saw her panic when you fell unconscious.”

 

Marian pokes her head around the door. “Roland’s starting to fidget, love,” she says and Robin smiles at her with such adoration and goddamn if Emma doesn’t want that for herself, not some prize to be won, some obsession to be pursued, but love.

 

“I’m glad we had this talk,” Robin says and Emma nods, the emotional conversation having expended all of her energy.

 

Marian smiles across at her. “Let me know if there’s anything we can do. I’ve already spoken to David and he’ll start my training while you recuperate.”

 

“Good,” Emma says. “Thanks for, like, saving my life.”

 

“Any time, Emma Swan,” Robin says. “Any time.” They leave and Emma dozes, trying futilely to stop herself from thinking of Regina.

 

She’s discharged in the afternoon, transported to her parent’s apartment, where David carries her up two flights of stairs and dumps her on the couch. “We’ll set you up in our bed,” Snow says. “We’ll sleep in your old room with Neal.”

 

“I don’t want to put you out,” Emma murmurs. The pain relief Whale gave her is taking hold, making her feel drowsy and light-headed.

 

“Nonsense,” Snow says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. David follows suit and then ruffles her hair. She nestles into the couch, leg elevated by cushions and falls asleep.

 

When she wakes again, it’s to the sound of Neal bawling, screams piercing and high, and Emma grimaces and wishes desperately for quiet. And then she feels the magic coursing through her veins because all she wants is to be away from the noise and there’s a burst of white light and she finds herself unceremoniously dumped onto an all too familiar bed.

 

“Fuck,” she mumbles. She sprawled out against the pillows and it’s blissfully soft and her ribs hurt from the jerking movement of her magic and she really should call out for Henry or, God forbid, Regina but she’s so tired and her voice doesn’t seem to want to work above a whisper. So she lets herself sink into the soft pillows and silken bedspread and fall asleep.

 

“Magic can be erratic especially after a shock,” she hears from the corridor. “I’ll change and then join the search.” The door to the bedroom opens and someone – Regina – enters, opens a drawer and then gasps.

 

“Emma?”

 

Emma opens one eye, just enough to see Regina standing before her. “Hi?” she says.

 

“Snow, Emma’s here,” Regina says, exhaustion sewn into her voice. “No, I don’t know why. Come and get her.” She pauses. “Fine. Tomorrow then.” She places the phone on the dresser. “What on Earth are you doing here? In my bed?”

 

“There was screaming,” Emma mumbles. “Neal. I wanted peace and quiet. Magic. I’m sorry. I can go.”

 

“No, you can’t, Ms Swan,” Regina says. She moves forward, sits on the side of the bed. Emma feels the slight shift in the mattress and then a blanket is being draped across Emma’s body and a hand is smoothing back her hair. “Your injuries combined with your use of magic will have totally drained your energy. You will stay here tonight. The Charmings can collect you in the morning.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Emma says, burrowing into a pillow, breathing in Regina’s scent.

 

“This is hardly your fault,” Regina says. “Do try not to be a martyr, dear.”

 

“No, for everything,” Emma says, voice blurry with sleep. “For Marian.”

 

Regina stands and moves to the door. In the doorway, the light from the hall silhouetting her frame, she pauses. “Oh, Emma. I forgave you for that a long time ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, Ma, no cliffhanger!
> 
> Also, every time I got tired of writing a conversation in this chapter I just had Emma fall asleep. I have less than no medical knowledge, so apologies for that.


	11. In which Emma experiences something akin to domestic bliss

When Emma wakes, her brain feels less fuzzy and she finally, at long last feels like she’s had enough sleep. Regina’s bed is amazing and she’s contemplating a complicated heist to get it to her own apartment when the bedroom door opens and Henry enters, carrying a tray.

 

“Ma,” he says, grinning. “We made you breakfast.” There’s enough toast for two on the tray, she can see that now, and she reaches greedily for the mug of what smells tantalisingly like coffee.

 

“Sit up first, Ms Swan,” Regina says, entering the room from behind Henry with her own mug of coffee. “I’ll not have you spilling coffee on my duvet.”

 

“Sorry.” Emma struggles to sit up. “Some help please?” And Regina has her arms under Emma’s armpits and is hoisting her up in the bed.

 

“Lean forward,” she says, and a cushion is placed behind her back. Henry has settled himself in on the other side of the bed, piece of toast liberally slathered with apple jelly in one hand. Emma grabs the coffee cup, breathing in the aroma, and takes a deep gulp.

 

“Mom, sit down,” Henry says, patting the space beside him.

 

Regina stands by the bed, the picture of professionalism in a tailored black dress and pantyhose. “There’s no room, dear.” Instead, she perches on the edge of the stool at her vanity, looking as though she might run at any moment. Her long fingers curl around the sides of a mug.

 

“Thank you for letting me stay,” Emma says. “Sorry about stealing your bed.”

 

“The guest bedroom is perfectly comfortable,” Regina says.

 

Henry just looks at her. “No, it’s not,” he says. “You deliberately bought a terrible bed so no one would ever want to stay for more than a night.” Emma feels suddenly very sorry for Robin and Marian

 

Emma laughs at Regina’s rising blush. “Oh, you are _evil_.” Regina’s face falls. “Sorry,” Emma mumbles. “Bad joke.”

 

“I know,” she says. Emma smears a slice of toast with cream cheese. Henry grabs a second slice and chews, head turning from one mother to the other. Regina looks at her phone. “Henry, dear. You need to brush your teeth and get to the school bus.”

 

Henry grumbles but complies and Emma and Regina are left alone. “I really am sorry,” Emma says. “For stealing your bed. For being a brat yesterday. I should have listened to you on the phone.”

 

“Stop apologising,” Regina says.

 

“Sorry,” Emma replies. “Ugh. I mean…”

 

“David’s on his way over,” Regina says curtly. “He’ll help you downstairs.”

 

“You could use magic,” Emma yells after her, though she’s not really bothered when it means more time luxuriating in Regina’s bed.

 

But when David arrives – with Emma’s crutches, pills and cell phone – Regina suggests that Emma stay with her. “You have the baby to be looking after and all those stairs,” she says. “Besides, it really is Emma’s week with Henry.”

 

So David dumps Emma on the couch in the living room and promises to be back with a change of clothes shortly. “Thanks,” Emma says. “You didn’t have to do that.”

 

“I know,” Regina says. “I chose to. I’m making tea.” She sweeps out of the room. Emma’s starting to notice a pattern. Regina says something revealing and then she leaves.

 

She returns shortly with two mugs of apple and cinnamon herbal tea. Emma’s never been much of a fan of herbal tea but this stuff’s not too bad; it smells amazing at least. “Sit down,” Emma says because Regina’s returned to loitering around the doorway. Regina sits, in a chair physically as far away as possible from Emma, who tries not to take offence to that. “Don’t you have work?”

 

“I’m working from home this week,” she says.

 

“So,” Emma says, popping painkillers – another thing David brought with him and good thing too because her ribs are starting to ache again. “What’s the 411 on the whole relationship thing?”

 

“Could you be any more inarticulate?” Regina asks, rolling her eyes.

 

“You knew what I meant, didn’t you?” Emma says and Regina shrugs.

 

“No one knows the whole thing was faked,” she says.

 

“Except Henry,” Emma says. “And Ruby.” At Regina’s stony look, she adds, “I was really drunk!”

 

“Your family are terrible at keeping secrets,” Regina says but she does not sound unamused.

 

“So they think we were taking a break?” Emma says. “Which means you running to my rescue and creeping around the hospital and letting me stay at your house is... suspicious.”

 

“I did not creep around the hospital!” Regina says.

 

“Woke up at night and there was a puff of purple smoke that suggested you were poofing out of there,” Emma says, grinning.

 

“I… was contemplating murder,” Regina says. “You really irritate me.”

 

Emma laughs. The pain medication is starting to take effect though and her head droops against the arm of the chair. “One day you’re going to tell me what you were talking about with Robin,” she murmurs.

 

“Perhaps,” Regina says, removing the mug from Emma’s hand. Emma’s pretty much asleep when she feels a blanket being drawn up across her body and a hand stroking her hair back from her forehead. She wriggles and mumbles inarticulately under her breath.

 

She’s woken by Henry. “Mom said you’re staying,” he says, grinning.

 

Emma yawns. “For a couple of days,” she says. “Just until I can get around by myself without too much trouble.”

 

“Awesome,” Henry says. “Can we watch a movie tonight?”

 

“Ask your mom,” Emma says.

 

Regina agrees to a movie night but won’t let Emma eat on the couch. “You have to start using those crutches,” she says irritably.

 

The smells coming from the kitchen are intoxicating and Emma clutches the crutches and swings her way slowly to the dining room, trying desperately not to knock her ribs.

 

“Mom made burgers,” Henry says and he’s got that knowing grin on his face again, like everything is a sign of Regina’s tender affection for Emma.

 

Emma settles in at a dining room chair and smiles at the burger. Typical of Regina, the burger meat is chicken breast and they’re made with some fancy ciabatta bread and expensive cheese and sauces, and salad bursting out the sides. Regina eats her burger with a knife and fork and glowers at Emma when she picks her up in both hands and opens wide. She hasn’t eaten since breakfast and she’s starving.

 

“This is amazing, Regina,” she mumbles through a bite.

 

“I am deeply glad that bad manners are not hereditary,” Regina says.

 

Henry smirks at Emma and she pokes out her tongue. Regina rolls her eyes. After dinner and dishes they settle down on the couch in front of the television. Henry has chosen the first ‘Star Wars’ movie, Emma suspects in the hope of starting a marathon over the course of the next few nights, but he’s asleep by the time Luke and Han rescue Leia from the Death Star, head on Regina’s shoulder. She knows he didn’t sleep well when she was in hospital; there have been too many close calls with his parents and Emma does worry that one day she and Regina won’t be so lucky.

 

Emma’s reluctant to disturb the peace so she and Regina simply keep watching. Emma reaches out to wrap an arm around Henry’s shoulder and her fingers brush against Regina’s hand. “Sorry,” she murmurs but Regina doesn’t pull again so Emma keeps her hand where it is, finger splayed across the back of Regina’s hand on Henry’s shoulder. It’s difficult to concentrate on anything but the soft skin beneath her own, but she keeps her eyes on the screen.  

 

As the credits roll Regina’s all business again. “You’ll sleep down here,” she says. “I’ve made up a bed in the study.” Sure enough, Regina’s found a single rollaway bed somewhere and transported it into her study. “David dropped some bags off while you were sleeping. I suspect the tight jeans will be out of action in the interim.” Emma rummages through the bag; David seems to have thrown every dress Emma owns into the bag – contrary to the people of Storybrooke’s beliefs, Emma owns several dresses of the soft, loose variety (a brief period as a hippy in her late teens is to blame for them). There’s a pleasant sense of nostalgia pulling them out.

 

She grabs the oversized tee-shirt that doubles as pyjamas some days and removes her shirt. Regina blushes, which was kind of Emma’s intent, but then winces. “Those bruises,” she says. “They don’t look good.”

 

Emma looks down. The imprint of the seatbelt is imprinted on her chest, dark and angry bruises. The next thing she knows, Regina has arnica cream in her hand and is spreading the lotion across her collar bone, the cream tingling against her skin and the fresh smell rising. Regina’s fingers work delicately, gently massaging the cream into the bruised skin.

 

Emma grabs her wrist. “No,” she says. “You want me or you don’t. Please don’t toy with me.”

 

Regina looks like she might have something to say to that, mouth open as if to retort, but then she stands and says stiffly, “have a good night’s sleep.” As has now become habit, Emma falls asleep imagining Regina, lips against her, skin touching skin, sweat and steam. The impression of her finger tips of bruised skin lasts.

 

Ruby visits the next day, as Emma lies on the couch, reading. Regina threw a copy of ‘Persuasion’ at her when she whined about being bored and she’s struggling through it. Ruby has brought a milkshakes and bags of greasy food and Emma might be a little bit over-enthusiastic about this. “Oh my God, food,” she says around a mouthful of fries.

 

Regina scoffs from the doorway. “That’s the last time I feed you,” she says.

 

“That’s okay,” Emma says, beaming around the milkshake straw. “I have Ruby.”

 

Ruby waves at Regina, who sneers. “You’ll get clogged arteries,” she says. Emma does notice that Regina finds plenty of excuses to pop into the living room while Ruby is there.

 

“She’s totally jealous,” Ruby murmurs in Emma’s ear. “I’ve got to get back to the diner. See ya later, Madame Mayor.” She shouts the last part and laughs at the silence that follows it.

 

When Ruby’s gone, Emma gets up onto her crutches and hops into Regina’s study. There are files laid out across her desk and Regina is wearing glasses, which is just so unbearably adorable Emma can’t even stand it. “So,” Emma says, leaning against her crutch. “When you say a long time ago…”

 

“I’m very busy, Ms Swan,” Regina says, whipping the glasses off and secreting them in her desk. Emma’s willing to bet any sort of money that Regina doesn’t want anyone knowing she wears them. “Say what you mean or leave.”

 

“Two nights ago,” Emma says. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

 

“Oh,” she says. There is a long pause. “That.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma says. “So, what is a long time?”

 

Regina sighs, leans forward with her chin in her hands. “The moment you agreed to be my girlfriend to assuage my pride,” she says eventually.

 

“And you still made me go through with it?” Emma asks. She is sort of genuinely outraged but plays it up, voice squeaking at the end of the question.

 

“Of course,” Regina says. “I needed you.” Emma can’t read the expression on her face; the mask back in place and the smooth curve of her jaw implacable. “Besides, you still owed me.”

 

There’s a thump at the door and Henry yells out, “Home!” and stomps into the kitchen.

 

“I’ll find him a snack, shall I?” Emma suggests and Regina nods.

 

Later, after dinner and ‘The Empire Strikes Back’, Henry goes upstairs to read and Regina stays, sitting beside Emma, a Henry-sized space between them. “This is nice,” Emma says.

 

Regina nods. “I suppose it is.”

 

Emma chances a look at Regina, whose eyes are fixed on a spot in the distance. She looks tired, eyelids drooping and purple circles under her eyes. “Hey, does Robin know the truth about us?” she asks.

 

Regina shakes her head. “I was talking to him about some… confusing feelings I was having.”

 

And Emma’s mind connects some very broad and vague dots. “Robin said you were talking about me,” she says, heart thumping.

 

Regina turns towards her. “Yes,” she says. “We were.” It’s dark in the living room, one lamp lit and creating shadows that hood Regina’s eyes but Emma knows that curve in her lips and she swallows noisily.

 

“Hey,” she says.

 

Regina moves closer, closing the gap. “Hey,” she says, voice soft and husky, and then softly, gently, she cups a hand around Emma’s cheek, pulls her forward and kisses her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know if I'll be writing anything for Swan Queen Week - none of the tropes really spoke to me (except fake relationship and I'm already doing that!) I may do a creator's choice trope.


	12. In which there are happy endings all round

Regina takes care to be gentle because Emma is still pretty battered and bruised but Emma so desperately wants more, arching up into the kiss as much as her injuries will allow. She feels the press of Regina’s mouth against hers and the stiff fabric of the couch below her fingers as she scrabbles for purchase, something to weight her to this world.

 

“Ow,” she mutters when Regina’s elbow knocks against her ribs and Regina pulls back, eyes wide and lips puckering into a rosebud shape.

 

“I hurt you,” she says, voice small. A crease forms between her eyebrows.

 

“No,” Emma says hastily. “Well, yeah, you knocked my ribs but I’m okay.”

 

Regina’s backing away, though one hand trails down her arm, fingers entwining with Emma’s own. “This isn’t the best time for this, perhaps?”

 

“There is never a bad time for kissing,” Emma says, emphatic. She brings Regina’s hand to her lips and presses a kiss onto her knuckles. Regina starts, a shiver running through her body. “But I just need to know, this isn’t payback or guilt or anything like before?”

 

“I can’t pretend that I quite understand my feelings,” Regina says, “at least not enough to verbalise them, but I’m less indifferent to you than I once supposed.”

 

“You’re killing me with kindness here,” Emma says. She’s joking. The hitch in Regina’s voice at the word ‘indifferent’ and the way she clutches Emma’s hand tighter as though worried Emma might shy away belie her casual words.

 

“I don’t know how to say it,” Regina says, voice halting. “I thought that Robin was it, my last chance for happiness, for… love. I’m hoping now that I might be wrong.”

 

Emma’s heart begins the rapid rat-tat-tat of a drumbeat. “We make sense, you and I,” she says. “At least on paper.” Her lips quirk, recalling that much earlier conversation.

 

“Don’t be smug, Ms Swan,” Regina says and then her lips are on Emma’s again and Emma tangles a hand through Regina’s hair, jerking her head closer and biting on her bottom lip, because Regina won’t break if Emma is a bit forceful and it seems like Regina likes it because she hums against Emma’s lips and Emma’s not sure if she’s ever felt more content.

 

The light in the living room flickers on and Henry says, “Mom, I can’t find my… Oh my _God_.”

 

Regina leaps off the couch, patting her hair, which is well and truly rumpled. “Henry! It’s not…”

 

“My eyes,” Henry groans. “My beautiful eyes! They’re burning, burning!” He claws at his face and keens melodramatically, collapsing to the floor.

 

“Can it, kid,” Emma says because Regina looks like she might vomit. She’s never been good with humour in serious situations, whereas it’s Emma’s modus operandi. And apparently their son’s.

 

Henry hoists himself off the floor and grins beatifically. “Scarring as that display was,” he says, “I am seriously pleased you’re getting your sh-stuff together.”

 

Regina gives him a look like she didn’t miss the almost-swear but chooses to smile instead, eyes softening. “What did you need, dear?”

 

When Henry returns to bed, his history text book found under the couch, Emma smiles up at Regina, who is still standing. “How are you?” she asks.

 

Regina shrugs. “I’m not regretting anything. You?”

 

“I could never regret you,” Emma says and she has never meant anything more.

 

Regina’s eyes narrow, thin lines crinkling at the corners, and she smiles. “You sap.”

 

“What can I say?” Emma says. “I’m charming.”

 

Regina rolls her eyes. “An inherited trait, I hear,” she says.

 

“The question is,” Emma says, throwing caution to the wind, “am I charming enough that I could sleep in your bed tonight? That rollaway’s fine, but it’s no king-sized, memory foam mattress with Egyptian cotton sheets.”

 

“I won’t stop you,” Regina says, though she helps Emma up and supports her clacking up the stairs with her crutches. Emma steals a pyjama top from Regina’s drawers and pulls it on, relishing the way Regina’s eyes darken when she takes in Emma’s unclothed state even though it’s too soon, far too soon, for that. She pulls her bra off from under the shirt and eases herself into the bed.

 

“Come on,” she says to Regina who is standing dumbly in the middle of the room.

 

Regina disappears into the bathroom, returning minutes later in this ridiculously suggestive negligee. “No pyjamas left,” she says, smirking. “Sorry.”

 

“Because you burnt them?” Emma asks, throat dry because the silk does not do much of a job of hiding Regina’s figure and she’s hypnotised by the curves and planes of her body, the indent of her belly button, the ‘v’ at her thighs, the pull of fabric across her chest.

 

“You did steal my last top,” Regina replies, sitting on the bed and squirting moisturiser onto her hands, beginning to massage her legs, hands shifting the nightgown further up her thighs.

 

“You’re deliberately messing with me now, aren’t you?” Emma says.

 

“It’s just so very easy,” Regina says, rubbing her hands together and sliding under the covers. Emma can feel Regina’s calf rub against her leg and then she leans up on her elbow and kisses Emma again, slow and tender. “Good night, dear.”

 

Emma lies awake, staring at the ceiling. She worries this is all too soon. She worries Regina will wake up and realise this is a mistake. She worries that Robin will make a wrong turn and come back for Regina…

 

“Emma, stop thinking,” Regina grumbles, voice hoarse with fatigue. “I’ll still care about you in the morning, I promise.”

 

Emma feels her mouth shift into a smile and, gradually, her breathing eases and she drifts off.

 

*

 

The sound of the saw pervades the room and Whale peels the cast off Emma’s leg. Emma frowns at the sight of her left leg, pasty and hairy and noticeably thinner than her right leg. Henry grimaces. “Ugh, the smell.”

 

“Sometimes when you haven’t had a shower for a couple of days _you_ smell,” Emma says. “I’m not rude about it.”

 

“Yes, you are,” Henry says. “Last time you thought I hadn’t showered in a long enough time you bought, like, ten sticks of deodorant and threw them at my head one by one as I walked in the door.”

 

Emma grins at the memory and David stifles a laugh. Dr Whale fits her with the moon boot, gives her instructions about not removing it for two weeks unless strictly necessary and sends her on her way. David supports her out the door, leg weak and shaky.

 

“Home?” he asks.

 

“Yeah,” Emma says. “I mean, to Regina’s.” She can feel her face flush. “Oh, shut up,” she adds, shaking her head at Henry who is giggling. Even David can’t resist a smirk. She’s been back at her apartment after the first week, though she’ll admit there have been a fair number of sleepovers at Mifflin Street, as Henry has started referring to them, sleepovers where Regina has taken advantage of the fact that Emma has limited capacity for movement – particularly when you push her crutches out of reach. “It’s just, she has a bath. I want to soak for hours.”

 

“In your own filth,” Henry says, pulling a face, and Emma balls up an old prescription from Whale and throws it at him.

 

“Diner at Granny’s tonight?” David suggests. “Mary Margaret’s been missing you.” She sees David at work – though of course Emma’s relegated to desk duty – but she can’t make it up all the stairs to the loft and she’s been preoccupied with… other things so she hasn’t seen her mother as often as they’d both like.

 

“Sounds great,” she says, swinging out of the car. She limps to the door, the moon boot oddly heavy on her leg. Henry unlocks the front door and pushes inside, thumping upstairs to his bedroom. “Honey, I’m home,” Emma yells because she knows it pisses Regina off.

 

“In the living room,” Regina calls back and Emma hobbles through. Regina’s sitting on an armchair across from Marian and Roland. Roland’s obviously tired, curled up on the couch next to his mother, his head on her lap. She’s rubbing circles on his back with one hand and clasping a cup of tea in the other.

Emma leans over, pressing a kiss to Regina’s hair, breathing in the apple shampoo scent. Straightening, she nods at Marian. “How’s it going?”

 

Marian grins. “Well, thank you. I see you’re free of the cast. How long until you can be back on full duty as sheriff?” Marian’s rather hit the ground running as a deputy. She’s handling it beautifully and Emma fully intends to hire her permanently when her trial is up.

 

“Two weeks,” Emma says, “unless I do something stupid.” Regina snorts at this. “Now, though, I really want to take a bath and shave off four weeks of stubble that’s accumulated under my cast.”

 

Regina’s lips curve. “Don’t let us detain you.”

 

Emma farewells Marian and limps upstairs. She runs the bath, using Regina’s fancy bubble bath, stripping off and grabbing the package of razors and shaving foam she’d bought that morning prior to her hospital visit.

 

She basks first, letting her head fall back against the side of the bath. Slowly, surely, she immerses her leg in the tub, the heat of the water blissful against the tender skin. She lets out a groan and relaxes into the tub. She’s shaved her legs and the bubbles have all but dissipated when Regina knocks at the bathroom door. “You all right?” she asks, poking her head around the corner.

 

Emma twists around. “You could help me out of the bath actually,” she says. “I’m not convinced that my leg will cope with the slippery surface of the bathtub.”

 

Regina smiles and enters the bathroom. “Pull the plug,” she says.

 

As water spirals down the drain, Regina sticks her hands under Emma’s armpits and hoists her up. Emma steps out onto the bath mat and sits on the side of the tub, letting Regina wrap a towel around her. She’s got a predatory look in her eyes, which are dark and smooth, and Emma is more than a little bit interested to see how this plays out.

 

Sure enough, Regina’s gaze falls to Emma’s breasts, nipples hardened in the sudden contrast from the heat of the bath to the chill of the bathroom, and she grazes the back of her hand across one of them as she dries Emma off. She pats Emma’s legs with a towel and grabs a bottle of lotion, coating her hands and rubbing it into Emma’s legs.

 

Emma shudders at the fluttering touch of Regina’s fingertips creeping their way up her thighs. “Tease,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse.

 

“Was that an accusation or a command, Ms Swan?” Regina asks, licking her lips, and Emma’s legs part automatically, letting Regina take control with playful licks and kisses that grow in intensity until Emma’s clenching her fists against the porcelain tub and biting her lip to stop the scream that threatens to overtake her body.

 

When Emma’s bath has been rendered utterly pointless, sweat caking to her forehead and inner thighs sticky, Regina strips off and helps Emma into the shower where Emma returns the favour, fingers thrusting into Regina as the water hits her back and mouth latched around a nipple, tongue laving it. Regina doesn’t show any restraint in vocalising her appreciation and Emma hopes that the sound of the water swallows her moans and yelling because Henry’s down the hall.

 

Later, Regina helps her put the moon boot back on. “I suspect Whale would not approve of the amount of time spent without the moon boot.” Emma’s lying across the bed she’s started thinking of as ‘theirs’. She’s wearing her skinny jeans for the first time in forever and loving the feel of the denim against her skin again.

 

“Disturbingly I suspect Whale would approve all too much of your reasons for not wearing it,” Regina says, buttoning up her shirt and Emma grimaces.

 

“Granny’s tonight?” Emma suggests. “David’s idea.”

 

“Sounds good,” Regina says, bending over to kiss Emma and, coincidentally providing a prime look down her partially unbuttoned shirt.

 

Later, they drag Henry away from the computer and into the car and meet Mary Margaret, David and Neal at Granny’s. It’s a busy night, much of the town dining but Ruby’s quick to reach them to take their orders. Emma feels Regina’s hand on her leg, inching ever higher and so retaliates, letting her own hand drift under Regina’s shirt, tracing patterns on her back and feeling her sensitive skin tremble beneath her touch.

 

“Are you all right, Regina?” Snow asks.

 

Regina lets out a shaky breath, nods and shoots Emma a poisonous look. It’s when they’re eating dessert that Regina takes a spoonful of cream from on top of Henry’s sundae. The way she licks a spoon clean is pretty much pornographic and Emma presses her lips together in a tight line and tenses.

 

“Bathroom,” Emma says. “Back in a moment.”

 

She knows Regina will follow her and is not disappointed when, two minutes later, the bathroom door swings open and Regina has her pressed up against the wall next to the hand dryer, mouth on hers and one hand undoing the buttons on Emma’s shirt, the other skirting the waistband of her jeans.

 

“You’re evil,” Emma breathes between kisses.

 

“You play with fire, you’re going to get burnt, or some other cliché to that effect,” Regina says, grinning before her lips return to Emma’s collar bone. Emma’s just hoping her legs hold up for this.

 

“I love you,” Emma says feverishly and Regina, who has told Emma before that she’s not ready to say it, not ready for her happiness to get taken away (“like it does every time I love someone,” she’d said the first night Emma had said it), smiles and looks for a moment like she might respond. “It’s okay,” Emma says. “It’s just words.”

 

“I’m so glad we made this thing between us real,” Regina says, changing tack. “Would a fake girlfriend do this?” She slips her thigh between Emma’s legs and Emma whines with need.

 

“Actually, I’m pretty sure you did,” Emma says, kissing Regina’s neck. “Against your car? To make Robin jealous?”

 

Regina just grins and grinds against Emma. Vaguely Emma can hear a door open but she can’t bring herself to care.

 

“God,” Emma says fervently. “I’m so glad you asked me to be your fake girlfriend.”

 

“ _Fake_ girlfriend?” Mary Margaret squeaks and Emma and Regina both look to the doorway in horror.

 

“Shit!” Emma swears, scrabbling to button her shirt and Regina just about falls over she’s laughing so hard. Mary Margaret appears horror-struck, eyes wide and lip trembling, and she’s looking between the pair of them like they’ve killed a litter of puppies.

 

“God, I love you,” Regina says breathlessly between giggles.

 

And it’s just so perfectly right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your amazing support of this story. It really was only supposed to be four chapters but I had so much fun writing it!
> 
> I hope the ending satisfies. As ever, total fluff.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Temporary Distractions [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3086567) by [theleanansidhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleanansidhe/pseuds/theleanansidhe)




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